Out of the Dark and into the Green
by Chim Cheree
Summary: Shortly before his 11th birthday, Harry Potter disappears from Privet Drive. Accidental Magic takes him halfway through the country, and while Harry tries to find his place in his new life of magic and mystery, the Wizarding World is left to deal with the consequences his disappearance.
1. Chapter 1

With great regret I acknowledge that Harry Potter does not belong to me.

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><p><strong>OUT OF THE DARK AND INTO THE GREEN<strong>**  
><strong>

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**PART ONE**

**.**

- 1 -

"The boy, Harry, he's gone."

For a moment Albus Dumbledore felt unable to do anything but stare at the head of his old acquaintance that had only moments ago appeared in his fireplace.

"What exactly happened?" He asked when he found his voice.

"I don't know, I don't know. The week before last I saw him go to school like any other day, but that's the last I saw of him. He wasn't at school for the last two weeks. Nobody saw him. Not in the garden, not anywhere. Tried to talk to his aunt, she didn't say much just that he was sick but-" Old Mrs. Figg wiped her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief, then blew her nose loudly.

"But?" Albus prodded softly, careful not to upset the old woman even more.

"But then today the police showed up. Law enforcement. Asked questions about Harry. Their son, the Dursley boy, he said something at school about Harry being gone for a while now. Don't know much else, they went inside then. But, but I just felt you needed to know." She hiccupped.

"Thank you dear. That was indeed the right call. I'll see what I can do."

"You have to find him Albus. He's so small. Tiny. Such a nice boy. And the cats like him. Even Mr. Tumbles. Even he."

Albus left for Privet Drive immediately. This didn't sound good, not at all. He had given Harry into the care of his relatives because it was the safest place for him to be, the only place for him to be, and if he'd run away… Albus didn't want to contemplate the consequences.

He disillusioned himself and apparated straight to the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive. When he was sure that nobody was watching him, he lifted the charm and knocked on the door.

Nobody opened it.

Albus knocked again. Louder this time.

Still nothing but he could hear faint noises coming from inside. Hastened steps that quickly became louder, then the voice of a woman. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

The door opened a crack and Petunia Dursley peered out. She looked rather poor. Her face was even gaunter than he remembered and there were dark circles under her eyes.

"Yes?" She snapped.

"I'm here about Harry," Albus said.

"Who are you?" She squinted at him mistrustfully.

"Albus Dumbledore. I brought Harry here and left you the letter."

"You!" she hissed, her eyes sparkling with anger. "You brought this down on us. What do you want?"

"I simply wish to talk to Harry, he will receive his Hogwarts letter soon."

"Harry isn't here."

"And where is he?"

Petunia looked him up and down, her mouth twitched marginally when her eyes reached his purple striped pants. She opened the door wider.

"Come in. Quick, before the neighbours see."

The house looked just as pristine as Albus had imagined it, there were no dusty surfaces, the floor was squeaky clean and pictures of a happy family – of three, he noticed with sinking feeling – smiled from the walls.

There were clinking sounds coming from the kitchen. Petunia twitched nervously. "The living room is this way."

A big red stain, probably red wine, marred a light coloured carpet in the living room. A half full bottle of brandy was sitting on the table. It was the first sign that there might be something out of the ordinary going on in this house.

Petunia switched on the light and only two of three light bulbs shone.

Another sign. He couldn't for the live of him imagine that Petunia Dursley would allow her house to be anything but perfect, not under normal circumstances at least.

Albus took a seat in the only armchair and looked at Petunia grimly. "Where is Harry, Petunia?"

She started kneading her hands nervously. Her fingernails were too short and uneven. It seemed she was biting her nails.

Albus still didn't know what to expect, but his hope that all of this might turn out to be a big misunderstanding shrank substantially.

"He's gone," she said.

"What do you mean 'gone'?"

"Means just wha' she said, don' she?" A slurred voice remarked from the hallway, soon followed by the massive frame of Vernon Dursley. He stumbled into the living room, bringing with him a stinging smell of strong alcohol and tobacco.

Vernon slumped onto the couch next to Petunia, who flinched and glanced at her husband nervously.

Since when was Vernon Dursley a drunk? What had happened to this family? Should he have known? Should he have taken Harry away?

A heavy feeling settled into Albus stomach. Guilt.

"Are you sure you don't want to, um, go upstairs, darling? Take a nap?" Petunia tried.

Vernon ignored her, or simply didn't hear her, and looked at Albus with unfocused eyes. "Freak's gone, 'n good riddance."

Then, as if he had only just realized that there was a stranger sitting in his living room, Vernon added. "'n who are you anyway?"

Albus let Petunia explain the situation. Vernon's face turned redder with each word.

"What happened?" Albus repeated when Petunia was finished.

"What happened? What happened?" Vernon hollered. "You hear that, Pet? He wants to know what 'appened!"

He stopped his rant to take a large gulp of brandy from the bottle on the living room table. "That freak happened, nothing else. Came here, destroyed our lives. That's what happened. Destroyed my fucking life."

"And how did he do so?" Albus asked patiently, not sure what to make of Vernon's accusations. He had no idea what kind of child Harry had grown up to be, but he couldn't imagine him turning out as bad as Vernon said he was.

"Made me lose my job! Made me the laughing stock across the neighbourhood. Lost my car because of him!"

"But how?"

"HOW? HOW?" Vernon shouted again, spit flying from his lips. Albus vanished it with a discreet twitch of his wand before it reached his face.

"How should I know? He's the freak. He's the one with those thrice-damned powers. I know he did something, I know it!"

"So Harry didn't really do anything?" Albus was perplexed. Petunia had grown up with a witch as a sister, she should very well know that it was not in the capabilities of a untrained, young child, wizard or not, to magically make Vernon lose his job.

"Didn' you listen to me old man? I los' my biggest client and then my job. I know he did something. Gave me bad luck or somethin'. I just know!"

He sat back exhausted from shouting and drank some more.

This was deeply unsettling. As far as Albus could tell Vernon had lost his job and blamed Harry for it, had started drinking and probably blamed Harry for that too.

"Why did Harry run away?" He finally asked.

"I'm not sure," Petunia said.

"Yeah, how should we know," Vernon agreed.

"Did you maybe do something to him, in your anger?"

Petunia bristled. "He didn't-"

"Pet. Lemme. I jus' knocked him about a bit. Not too hard. Least not harder than he deserved," Vernon said.

Albus closed his eyes, and tried very hard to suppress his rising fury. "What did he do to deserve such punishment?"

"Turned his teachers hair blue, the little freak!" Vernon said triumphantly, drunkenly thinking Albus would understand this reason.

"So he did some accidental magic and you punished him for it?"

"Gotta beat that freakishness out of him. Nothing else works."

Petunia covered her face with her hands. "I tried to stop him," she mumbled. "Tried to tell him that it was too much. He never hit Harry before. Not really. Harry ran out of the door the first chance he got and we haven't seen him since."

Half an hour later Albus left Number Four and apparated straight to his office. The news left him exhausted, but he had no time to rest. He had people to inform, a search to organise, had to somehow keep the news from getting out to Voldemort's remaining followers…

He was confident that they would find Harry. They simply had to.

.

Something was pressing into his back uncomfortably. He moved around a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position. It didn't help much, but he was so tired, he didn't want to wake up yet. His head was pounding. Maybe sleep would help. With a sigh he sank back into the darkness of his dreamless sleep.

A few hours later he woke up once more, something was still pressing into his back. And now that he thought of it, into his cheeks too. He opened his eyes and was greeted by trees.

He gasped. Where the hell was he? Why wasn't he in his cupboard? What had-

Suddenly memories of the previous night – or had more then one night passed? – came back to him.

His horrible teacher. His anger. Blue hair. Vernon's anger. And then pain. He remembered tearing his arm out of Vernon's grasp, remembered running out of the front door, wishing to be anywhere, just anywhere else. He remembered feeling squeezed, like there was no room for him to move. Then his memory stopped.

Harry got to his feet. His arm hurt like hell. He rolled up his sleeves and took a look at it. There were black and blue markings where Vernon had grabbed him, scratches of too long fingernails. He hurriedly pulled his sleeve down again. He didn't want to see this.

He was surrounded by trees. No matter in which direction he looked, only deep, dark green awaited him. Should he go left or right? Or maybe straight ahead?

He felt like crying. He had no idea where he was.

Either straight ahead or left, he decided, then raised his uninjured hand and started to count:

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…"

His own voice sounded odd to him, scratchy, probably from screaming at Vernon.

He finished the rhyme. "Left side it is," he murmured and started to walk.

He felt like a stupid little child for using that rhyme, but he didn't know what else to do. Maybe he got lucky with it. Maybe he'd reach a street soon and could ask someone to take him-

His train of thought stopped abruptly. Take him where? Where could a stranger take him? He didn't want to go back to the Dursleys, who made him sleep in a dark cupboard. He didn't want to go back to Uncle Vernon, who had hurt him. To Petunia who hated him. He couldn't go back there.

After a few hours of walking his arm and head throbbed painfully and he decided to take a rest. He lay down on his belly and rested his head on his good arm.

Just as he was about to close his eyes he saw it. Right in front of him, only a few yards away, was a wall of dark wooden boards. It was hidden between trees and bushes, but it was definitely a wooden wall. Maybe a small hunter's hut!

He scrambled to his feet and started running.

Maybe he was lucky and the hunter was there!

It turned out he was right, there was indeed a hut and its small windows were illuminated. He ran up to the door and stopped in front of it.

Suddenly doubts began to gnaw at him. What if this wasn't a nice hunter? What if this was some kind of evil person, a criminal, a murderer even, hiding out in the woods?

For lack of other options he decided to knock anyway.

It took an eternity before someone opened the door. It was an old man. His sparse hair was as grey as his eyes, his face sunburned, his hands rough. He wore weird clothes, not a trouser and a shirt, but something that looked like a robe.

The man looked down at him, and the boy shrunk back when he saw the annoyed, nearly angry expression, that marred the man's features.

"What's a wispy wizard like you doing in my woods?"

Wizard? What? Maybe this was neither a hunter nor a criminal but simply a nutcase?

"Um, Hi, I'm Harry," he simply said in the end.

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><p>Next chapter following soon.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

_Still don't own anything. _

- 2 -

"Harry, ey? Just Harry?"

"Potter, I'm Harry Potter."

"Potter. Harry Potter," the old man repeated his name slowly, as if tasting it on his tongue. Suddenly he started to laugh loudly, his belly quivering. It was a rough sound, not really friendly.

His laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started and grey eyes narrowed in on Harry. "What's your middle name boy?"

"J-James," Harry said perplexed, wishing he hadn't knocked, wishing he had just kept walking. The man clearly wasn't all there.

"Harry James? Yes, yes… James… I think I remember. It's been a long time, a long, long time." He reached out a hand, quick as a snake, to touch Harry's head.

Harry was too scared to object and too tired to move and simply allowed the old man to pat his head, or feel his hair or whatever it was the old man was up to.

"Yes," he'd said and laughed roughly. "Real Potter hair, and in my woods. Say, what is a little Potter wizard like you doing in my woods?"

"I'm sorry sir," Harry said, as this was what his aunt and uncle always wanted to hear when they were angry with him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know this was your wood, I didn't know it belonged to anybody. I was just running down a street and then I was here and-"

"Running away, were you?" The man interrupted. "Ooh, what are your parents going to say? What will they say? A little wizard running away to my woods…"

"Um, my parents are dead," Harry said quietly.

"Interesting... And you didn't like were they put you, so you ran away?"

Harry nodded.

"Well come in then, boy. It's getting dark already. You can stay for the night. I'm Al."

One night became two, then three, then a whole week and soon they had an unspoken agreement that Harry was allowed to stay as long as he helped Al around the house and garden. Oh, and Harry promised to buy the old man an elf when he was too old to care for himself. Harry agreed to that too, even though he knew that elves didn't exist. But he liked living with Al better than living with the Dursleys and he wasn't going to ruin his new live over something like that, so he kept his mouth shut.

There were quite a lot of things Harry remained silent about. It seemed the old man was as obsessed with magic as the Dursleys were with normality. He often talked about a magical world, about potions, wands, witches, wizards and muggles. The latter was what he called normal, non-magical people. Al didn't like them at all.

On his third day, when Harry was tending to the vegetable patch, Harry had asked him why he didn't simply buy his food in a store. There had to be a town or at least a small village somewhere nearby. This simply question led to a 20-minute rant from the old man.

"I might have a condition, but I'm not lowering myself to that," he spat, his grey eyes narrowed angrily at the startled child. "I got my standards. Of course, a wizard like you won't understand, think I'm just the same. Think I'm no good. Oh, but I got my standards, my pride. I'm no muggle."

Harry never raised the issue again. If there was one thing he had learned while living with his aunt and uncle, it was that it wasn't advisable to argue with the people that had power over him.

At the Dursleys this meant never questioning their irrational hatred of all things abnormal, at Al's it meant accepting that he believed magic was real.

Al's hut wasn't big. It had a small kitchen with a wood-burning stove, a table with two chairs and a shelf for the dishes, a bedroom for the Al that Harry wasn't allowed to enter, a bathroom, and a small but cosy living room where Harry slept on the couch. It still wasn't his own room, but it was better than the cupboard under the stairs.

All in all, Harry thought his living situation had really improved since coming here. Yes the old man had some very weird quirks, but he didn't get drunk every day like Vernon, didn't make Harry go to school with a bunch of stupid, bullying children and all things considered was also better company than the Dursleys had ever been.

They didn't talk much about their respective pasts. Al seemed to think Harry's parents were a witch and a wizard too, and by the way he always condemned the 'muggle world', Harry felt it saver no to mention that he'd been living with these so called muggles all his life. If Al liked to believe that Harry was a wizard with magical parents, then it was better not to disagree if Harry wanted to stay. He also never mentioned the Dursleys by name, out of fear Al might one day change his mind and call them to get him.

The one thing that disturbed Harry a bit was the hunting. Al liked to eat meat, and as he was unwilling to buy it in a store, he went out to hunt for it himself. With a wooden bow and arrows.

Sometimes Harry felt like he was sent back centuries, like this little part of the woods Al occupied had been left untouched by the course of time. Al had no phone, no telly, no microwave and as it turned out not even a shotgun to go hunting.

It was an amazing adventure, like living in a book.

For countless times, Harry had watched Al disappear into the woods with his bow and arrows, only to return a few hours later with a deer, rabbits or pheasants.

Sometimes they prepared the meat over open fire and sat outside till late in the night. Harry liked those times. In the glow of the campfire, Al opened up. He told Harry amazing stories about speaking rabbits, hopping pots, goblin rebellions, about a magical castle called Hogwarts where ghosts roamed the halls and suits of armour came to life.

After evenings like that, Harry often had to remind himself forcibly that none of it was real. It was all to easy to loose sight of reality when living in the woods with a man like Al, far away from civilisation. Harry would like nothing more than to believe in Al's stories about dragons and wizards, but he had learned early on, lying in his dark cupboard, wishing for a knight in shining armour to save him, that life just didn't work like that.

"So Harry," Al said one evening in mid-August, when Harry had been living with him for about two months, "tell me about your accidental magic."

"About my what?" Harry asked perplexed. Accidental magic? Did Al want to have proof that Harry was a real wizard? What should he say? That he had fought a dragon? Made a cauldron dance?

"Your accidental magic. The things you made happen, the things muggles," he spat the name,"couldn't wish understand. Bit slow on the uptake, aren't you?"

"Am not!" Harry said indignantly. He wasn't slow, just not as crazy as Al. Harry thought about what he should say. Maybe fighting a dragon was laying it on a bit thick. Suddenly he remembered the incident when aunt Petunia had cut his hair really short, and the one where the mean teacher's hair had suddenly turned blue… But that wasn't really caused by him, was it? That was just a coincidence.

"Um, well, on time, somebody cut my hair too short, it looked really ugly and I didn't want to go out like that, the next morning, it was back to its normal length," Harry said.

Al laughed heartily. "Vain little thing, you are. What else?" Al's eyes had an eager gleam in them, as if he was starved for these stories about magic and mystery.

"Another time I was running away from a bully, and suddenly I was up on a roof. But I never climbed up there, and there was no ladder."

Al whistled in approval. "Accidental apparation. Now that's not something you see every day."

Harry told two more stories, about the teacher with the blue hair and about the pullover that shrunk when Petunia wanted to force it on him, and the longer he talked, the more he realized that there really had been happening some weird things in his life.

Could it be that he was the reason for them? That he was a – he hardly dared to think it, much less say it out loud – a wizard?

No. Definitely no. Wizards did not exist. The solitude didn't become him, it seemed. He was definitely going crazy. Magic wasn't real, the Dursleys had told him so numerable times. Or was it?

.

A loud noise startled Albus awake. He'd fallen asleep while reading, again. He stood up and went to the window. An owl was waiting outside. He opened the window to let it in, and with a sigh, took the letter from its outstretched leg.

_'Harry James Potter' _the envelope read, nothing more. No location. Albus had made the magical quill, that addressed the letters, write Harry's multiple times over different days, but the outcome was always the same. No address, just a name.

Without an address the owls weren't successful either, and always returned with the letter after one or two days.

This led Albus to consider three options: One, Harry had been taken in by a wizard and was somehow kept out of their reach. Two, he was living on the streets and didn't stay in the same place long enough for the letter to find him. Three, – an option Albus refused to believe – Harry was dead.

They had searched London and its suburbs for weeks, and even notified the muggle authorities when their efforts remained fruitless for too long.

By now, the whole wizarding world knew that Harry had gone missing. Fudge was in a right state, telling everyone who would give him the time of the day, that this incident had nothing to do with his government, that it under no circumstances should be blamed on him. The remaining Death Eaters now also knew of Harry's disappearance, and Albus couldn't help but doubt the motives behind Lucius Malfoy's offer to help sponsor the search. At least this offer reassured him somewhat, that Malfoy also didn't know of Harry's whereabouts.

The prophet was running stories about Harry almost daily, and everyday knew people came forward who claimed to have seen Harry in one place or another.

One witch, a young, round faced woman, even swore on her mother's grave that she'd seen Harry in the magical district of Paris, playing cards in a pub with two young veela.

Unable to stop himself, Albus had even investigated that claim. Of course it hadn't lead anywhere, but at least he'd been able to stock up on his favourite French candies, which was made this trip more successful than any of his other expeditions.

Harry's disappearance troubled Albus immensely. Not only because he suspected that Harry still had a destiny to fulfil, but also because Harry was just a young innocent child, that right now should be excited about the joining wizarding world and not living in mortal danger.

He heaved a deep sigh. Harry was his responsibility. He owed it to Lily and James to ensure that their son didn't die a senseless death.

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><p><em>FYI: There will be major time jumps in the next few chapters. The main story takes place when Harry is about 16. <em>

_Let me know what you think! _


	3. Chapter 3

_Harry Potter is not my property._

_Warning: Hunting scene - there will be blood. (Do I need to warn for stuff like this?)_

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><p>- 3 -<p>

"I heard he went to live with the giants. They allowed him to stay after he helped them battle a huge dragon!"

"You're completely bonkers. Everybody knows he's fighting vampires in Transylvania, the Aurors there are useless."

"Vampires? Are you sure?"

"Course! My aunt said so, and she works for the Prophet."

"The Prophet? They write rubbish."

"Take that back!"

"It's the truth. My dad says so."

"Well, then your dad is stupid."

"Excuse me," Hermione interrupted the two students sitting next to her at the Gryffindor table. "Who are you talking about?"

She had heard stories like that and even more absurd earlier that day on the train ride to Hogwarts too, but couldn't make head nor tail of it.

Some stories sounded like they were about a young boy who ran away from home, others like they were about a dragon-riding, vampire-staking hero who had to be at least a hundred years old, taking into account all his supposed achievements.

The two older boys, probably second or third years, Hermione thought, looked startled.

"Who are we talking about?" One repeated slowly, as if he couldn't believe she'd even asked that question.

Hermione hid a wince and nodded. She hated not knowing something, especially if everybody else seemed to possess said knowledge already.

"Why, Harry Potter, of course."

"Harry Potter?"

Her brain flittered through everything she connected with that name at the speed of light.

There was Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, wizard and hero.

Then there was Harry Potter from Surrey. A boy about her age who'd disappeared a few weeks ago. He was a muggle, a normal boy; or so the papers had said.

Muggle papers, stupid. She scolded herself. Of course they wouldn't say he's a wizard.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of him," the second boy said. "Muggleborn, right? Well no matter, we'll get you up to speed. He's the Boy-Who-Lived, he-"

"I know who he is," Hermione said. "I read all about him. I just didn't know he went missing."

"Oi! He's not missing. That's just the cover story. In reality he's fighting vampires, my aunt-"

"Oh shut up. Nobody is interested in-"

Hermione left the two upper years to their squabbles and took a big gulp from her goblet. She grimaced. Pumpkin juice really needed some getting used to. She returned her concentration to her fellow first years. They too were talking about _him _and _his _adventures now, and hardly ever mentioned his name, probably assuming that everybody knew whom they were talking about anyway. Well, now she knew too.

.

Oh, there! A rustling noise! Harry froze, even held his breath, and pricked his ears. Yes, there it was again. Now he was sure. Something was moving over there, right behind a withered bush of dog roses.

Harry turned towards the bush, moving in slow motion, careful to avoid making any noise that could startle the animal. He closed his left eye and focussed his right one on his target – a few, still rustling branches. Then he slowly pulled the bowstring back with the arrow he was holding in the sweaty fingers of his right hand and simultaneously raised the bow. Al had made him practice this move at least a hundred, if not a thousand times, until he was somewhat satisfied with the result.

The arrow, or more accurately Harry's hand, was shaking slightly, even though there was no wind blowing. Harry started breathing deeply to relax his body. He was going to do this. He could do this. He wasn't a small child anymore, he was eleven already!

Another deep breath.

He had to do this today. This was his third time alone in the woods, and the last two times he had had to return unsuccessfully. Not this time. Not only because it would disappoint Al, but also because Harry really wanted to eat meat again. Al hadn't given him any for the last two weeks because he said that Harry was old enough to contribute to their meat stock too. As long as Harry didn't go hunting, he didn't get any meat, and only eating the vegetables Al grew in the garden became boring fast. They didn't even have noodles or rice, only the bread Al baked, which didn't taste too great, in Harry's opinion.

The breathing exercises were helping. Harry's heartbeat calmed down and his hand stopped shaking. He pulled the arrow back further and was about to let it fly when he remembered that he'd completely forgotten to check his stance.

Keeping his left eye shut, Harry squinted down to his feet with his right eye as inconspicuously as possible. Al would scold him for only thinking of checking his shooting stance so late. He shifted his left leg a bit, until his feet were shoulder-width apart, his weight evenly distributed on both of them. Perfect.

The twigs rustled once more, and this time, Harry was ready. He let his arrow fly and watched with big eyes as it whistled through the air and disappeared in the dog roses. Suddenly Harry heard a soft squeak and immediately dropped his bow in surprise. He hadn't expected to hit something for real this time. Not after all those futile attempts, where he'd even had a better view of his target most of the time.

Slowly Harry walked towards the bushes. His knees were trembling; from excitement or shock, he didn't know.

Oh god. He'd really hit something. On the small patch of grass behind the bush was a rabbit. It wasn't dead yet, but seriously injured. Harry's arrow had hit it at the side of its belly. Blood was flowing out of the wound and colouring the green grass red.

Harry wanted to close his eyes, turn around and run away. He couldn't believe that he was the cause of this. He was to blame for this rabbit's death.

"Get a grip," Harry said. His voice sounded too loud to his ears, as if it was disturbing the silence of the woods. Disturbing it like his actions were disturbing the life in the woods.

"Get a grip," he said again, quieter this time.

It shouldn't matter if he was shooting the animal himself or if Al was doing it for him. The result was the same.

While he kept staring at the rabbit – he just couldn't look away, no matter how much he wanted – Harry fumbled for the piece of wood Al had given him for situations like this. It was as thick as a broomstick and as long as Harry's forearm.

His hands were too warm and a bit slippery, which made it difficult to get a good grip. Harry wiped his sweaty hand on his pants and tried again.

With his left hand, he reached for the rabbit.

_Hold it by its hind legs. _

"You can do this. You can do this. You can do this," Harry muttered again and again. Yes he could, but he didn't want to, damn it!

Harry cursed Al and his stupid aversion of supermarkets. Things would be so much easier if they could just go to the next village and buy packaged, maybe even spiced meat…

Harry grabbed the rabbit by its hind legs and lifted it up. It struggled a bit, but not much. It had already lost a lot of blood.

Harry stared at the rabbit in his hand. The arrow was hanging out of the wound in its belly, swaying back and forth. Maybe he should have gotten rid of it before picking the animal up?

He gripped the wooden stick tightly and felt for the right place to hit the rabbit.

_Right behind the ears. _

Al had even shown this part to Harry, but he'd only watched half-heartedly. He hadn't wanted to see an animal die then, and he didn't want to now.

When he found the right place, Harry held his breath, raised the wooden stick and hit the spot _right behind the ears_ with as much force as he could muster.

The rabbit twitched in his hand for one last time. Then blood started trickling out of its mouth and ears.

Harry gazed at the gruesome picture. The eyes of the rabbit were bulging out; its fur was sticky with blood. An intense smell of copper was in the air and Harry tried to breath as shallowly as possible. He felt sick to the stomach and couldn't imagine eating this rabbit for anything in the world.

He picked up his bow and walked home slowly. Al would be proud, he knew, but at the moment Harry just couldn't bring up any joy for finally receiving the much longed-for recognition. Not when he was carrying a rabbit, whose blood-smeared head was swinging against his trousers every few steps, staining them red.

Al was working in the garden and he laughed out loud, when he saw Harry approaching.

"Finally! I knew you had it in you."

Harry didn't say anything. He wordlessly held out the rabbit to Al.

"Oh no. You're not done yet. It needs skinning and cleaning. We can't just eat it like that."

"I don't want to," Harry said and lowered his head. He didn't want to disappoint Al, but he liked the idea of drawing off that bloody rabbit's fur even less.

Al took the rabbit and put it on a table. Then he knelt down and put one hand on Harry's shoulder. With his other hand, he reached for Harry's chin and lifted it up until Harry looked right into his eyes.

"You were great today, Harry. You don't have to feel bad or ashamed for anything. This is nature. The stronger ones inevitably triumph over the weaker ones. If you hadn't shot the rabbit, then maybe a fox or another animal would have caught it. Rabbits are prey, that's their natural place in the food chain. You're a wizard, and today you saw that you're on top of the food chain, as you should be. Millions of muggles, wizards and witches eat meat daily. They buy it ready for usage and think nothing of it, because somebody else does the killing for them. Killing that rabbit yourself, doesn't make you a worse person."

Harry looked at Al in wonder. This was probably the nicest and most sensitive thing Al had ever said to him. It seemed Al realized that too. The next second he cleared his throat somewhat embarrassed and stood.

"Come on, boy. Now you get a chance to show me how much attention you paid when I showed you how to skin a rabbit."

Harry looked down at his hands, then at Al. Could he do this? Could he skin a rabbit?

"Come on, Harry. A man only shoots his first animal once. Are you really going to chicken out now, when you've already come this far?"

Harry tried not to smile. He knew that Al only said all of this stuff to convince him, but in a way Al was right too. This was the first time he'd returned from hunting successfully and it had been hard work to get here.

He had trained with his bow and arrow for weeks and had wandered through the woods for endless hours. He should be allowed to feel proud. He remembered feeling like an Indian in an old western the first time he tried out his bow and arrow, and suddenly that feeling returned. He was a stealthy Indian hunting for buffaloes. Or Robin Hood! Hunting for whatever Robin Hood liked to eat. They probably skinned the animals they hunted themselves too.

Finally Harry looked up and nodded. He could to this. He was already eleven, after all.

.

The search was coming to an end. A few volunteers as well as Albus himself still investigated all alleged sightings of Harry Potter, but those claims became fewer every week.

Some of his old friends and acquaintances had lost hope already. If even Albus Dumbeldore's magic couldn't find the boy, then he had to be dead, right?


	4. Chapter 4

_Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. Just in case you were wondering. _

* * *

><p>- 4 -<p>

"I never went this far before," Harry said, looking around the unfamiliar path they were walking uneasily. It was getting dark earlier these days, and colder too. Harry wrapped the robe Al had given to him tightly around his body, to shield it from the biting wind that grew harsher the closer they got to the clearing that was their destination.

"We need to get past the protection, and fast," Al said frowning down at his pocket watch. "The owls always arrive at 6 pm sharp."

The owls. For as long as Harry had been here, Al had given him the impression that he lived completely isolated from the outside world, but this morning he'd suddenly started talking about owls that apparently delivered letters and goods from _acquaintances _four times a year on a clearing about one and a half hours away from Al's hut.

Al had actually wanted Harry to stay behind, but Harry would have none of it. Owls delivering letters and packages? Harry doubted Al was telling the truth, but wanted to come along just in case anyway.

After living with Al for about three months, Harry couldn't dismiss the existence of magic as completely as he once had. Maybe, just maybe, he really was wizard. Harry shook his head. He had to stop daydreaming all the time. Yes, his life with Al was unreal – he went hunting for his own food with a bow and arrow, for god's sake – but he shouldn't lose sight of the reality of his situation.

"Here we are," Al said as they stepped out of the woods and into the clearing.

Harry looked around with big eyes. It was beautiful. The sky was of a dark blue, tinted with orange and pink, and the sinking sun was bathing the meadow and surrounding trees in a warm glow.

_Hoo, hoo. _

Harry craned his neck to search the sky. That really sounded just like he imagined owls to sound.

_Hoo, hoo._

A dark shadow, no, two dark shadows descended from a treetop nearby. Fascinated Harry watched as they approached Al, who held out his left arm for one of the owls to land.

The other circled around Al until the old man gestured at Harry. Immediately the owl turned to Harry, as if it _understood_ Al, and landed on the arm Harry reluctantly held out for it.

Its talons where sharp and digging into Harry's skin painfully, yet not quite cutting it. Cautiously Harry raised his free hand and touched its dark brown feathers. They were just as soft as they looked.

Real post owls. Harry could hardly believe it.

"You're beautiful," Harry murmured. When the owl reacted to his words by fluffing up its feathers proudly, he added: "And intelligent too."

Frighteningly intelligent, even. Harry had never heard of owls that reacted to humans like this. Were they simply well trained or was it _magic_?

When Harry tried to reach for the package the owl carried, it turned around sharply and _bit _him.

"Ouch! Al, it bit me!"

Al didn't pay him any mind. He was reading the letters the first owl had carried, his wild grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Harry eyed his owl distrustfully. It was sitting on his arm dead still now, but following the every movement of his hand with its wide, yellow eyes, undoubtedly readying itself for another attack.

It seemed to take ages until Al had finished reading all three letters he'd received, penned a reply and sent the first owl off with it. By the time Al turned towards them, the muscles in Harry's arm burned like fire.

"Now we come to the pleasant part," the old man said and freed the second owl of its burden. As soon as the package was in Al's hands, the bird took off into the night sky.

"Come Harry. We'll open it back home."

_We. _

After living with the Dursleys for nearly his whole life, watching Dudley unwrap dozens of presents at every opportunity while he was left empty handed, hearing that word uttered so casually meant more to Harry then he had known. Definitely also more than Al could know.

"What's inside?" Harry asked, jumping up and down excitedly as they made their way back.

"You'll see." Al smiled mysteriously.

Back at home, Al put the package onto the table and handed Harry one of the sharper kitchen knifes to cut the package open.

Harry goggled. From the outside, the cardboard box was no bigger than a very thick book and not particularly heavy, but from the inside it was big enough for aunt Petunia's microwave and then some. It was filled to the brim with different candies, books, bottles of drinks Harry had never heard before, pasties, sausages and stuff he couldn't even identify.

"Catch," Al said and threw Harry a small package.

_Chocolate Frog _was written on it in big, loopy letters, and Harry's mouth filled with water - finally something that wasn't a vegetable, meat or Al's bread.

He ripped the box open and let out a cry of surprise when his treat _jumped_ out of his hand and onto the floor.

Al laughed. "Haven't had them in a while, I take it?"

"Never," Harry breathed as he watched the frog crawl over the wooden floor.

_Magic. _There was no other explanation for this anymore. _Magic was real._

Harry's head spun, he felt dizzy.

"Never?"

Only when he heard Al repeat his answer incredulously did Harry realize that he was behaving all wrong. He'd been pretending to know about magic, reacting like this must be looking very suspicious.

"Yeah," Harry said. "The people I lived with, they didn't allow me to eat any sweets."

That much was true, at least.

Al hummed, and gave another chocolate frog to Harry. He never commented on the things Harry told him about his past, but his expressions often suggested that he didn't think much of the Dursleys.

This time, Harry was more careful. He cupped his hand over the box and caught the frog when it jumped. Its tiny legs wriggled as he put them into his mouth and tickled his palate in a funny way. The chocolate tasted delicious, far better than anything he'd ever managed to steal from his cousin.

"Take a look at the card inside the box," Al said. "Chocolate frogs always come with the card of a famous witch or wizard. I had an almost complete set when I was a child, there were only two or three cards missing when…" Al stopped abruptly. "Well, not matter."

Harry was about to ask Al to elaborate - the old man didn't often talk about his past - when he caught a glimpse of the card inside the chocolate frog box and completely forgot his previous train of thought.

The picture was _moving._

It showed a woman with fiery red hair. She wore night blue robes and was scowling fiercely at him.

"I got Morgan le Fay," Harry read from the card.

"Ah yes, she's quite common. But a good start for your collections nevertheless. She was a very talented witch."

"The card says she was an Animagus," Harry continued.

"Yes, yes. Could turn into a bird. My grandfather used to tell me stories about her and Merlin every time he came to visit."

_Merlin. _

By now, Harry thought, he really shouldn't be surprised anymore. If magic was real then why not Merlin and Morgan le Fay too?

"I think I'll go to sleep," Harry said. He had so much to think about, he didn't even know where to start.

"Already? Well, g'night. We have to talk tomorrow, by the way. I'll have to leave for two or three days and I can't take you with me. Business."

Harry was too overwhelmed by events of the day to feel much of anything when Al dropped this last bomb on him. Going by the way Al talked about the outside world – or the muggle world, more specifically – Harry had always thought that Al didn't leave the woods at all.

In the end it was just another thing he'd been wrong about. Interesting but hardly comparable to the discovery that _magic was real_. He'd like to see the look on Aunt Petunia's face now.

Harry fell asleep with a soft, contented smile on his lips.

.

Rain was pouring down windowpane, dancing on the glass ceiling of the living room in a maddening whirlwind of uneven steps. A violin, floating two metres above ground, its strings played by invisible hands, was fighting for dominance over the endless beat of raindrops.

Gentle notes complementing the wild rhythm of nature gave way to sounds so raucous, so loud, the bow threatened to splinter in its effort to reach a new crescendo - would have splintered if not for the magic dwelling within.

Pipe smoke mingled with the music, took on new forms with each change of rhythm telling stories of beauty and transience. Its outer tendrils formed nimble-fingered claws that grabbed for the velvet red curtains framing the high windows, as if in an attempt to prolong its existence, anchor itself in reality, not knowing that all it would leave behind was a lingering smell, slowly fading away in the light of the day.

A clock somewhere nearby struck ten, and when the sound of the last stroke died, a man, who had up until now been lying on a heavy leather sofa situated in the middle of the room, sat up and put his naked feet on the warm wooden floor.

His muscles were tense, every motion controlled as he put on his socks and heavy boots, this behaviour very at odds with his usual bearing. But then again, this was no usual night, not by a long shot. This was one of eight nights a year that stood out, where he was a different kind of person leading a different kind of life.

On a table nearby lay two knifes, one long and thin, one short and double-edged. He reached for the long knife first and scoffed as his fingers brushed against the polished table top made of mahogany wood.

_Pretentious - _but not uncommon, not in this life he led eight nights a year.

He cut through the empty space in front of him with a flowing movement and watched the light dance on the edges of the sharp blade. Next he threw it up into the air. He stood uncaringly as it sped back to the ground, knifepoint at the front. Then, just before it could touch the ground and damage the undoubtedly expensive wooden floor, he stretched out his hand.

"Back."

And the charmed knife followed his command without hesitation.

When the last syllable left his mouth, the knife stopped, hovered mid-air for a split second and then rushed back into his hand. The handle fit perfectly into his palm, like it belonged there, and maybe it did.

He repeated the procedure with the second knife, then, finally satisfied, both disappeared in between the layers of his clothing.

He left his abode, crossed the busy street right in front of the house and disappeared into a narrow alley. Soon he was nothing but a shadow, his black clothes melting into the dark of the night, his heavy boots charmed to be as quiet as a cat on the hunt.

.

Harry opened the kitchen window to let in fresh air and felt his mood sink even further. It was only early in the afternoon, but the sky was dark with rainclouds, the sun nowhere to be seen. It had been raining non-stop for the last two days, and without Al to keep him company Harry was terribly, unbelievably bored. He could hardly wait for Al to return. Thankfully he'd be back in the evening.

Al had allowed him to read one of the new books from the package they'd received a few days ago. It was called _Wandering with Werewolves _and told the story of how the author, a wizard called Gilderoy Lockhart, had saved a village from werewolves. Real, shape shifting werewolves that howled to the moon once a month and _ate_ other wizards and muggles.

Harry loved the book, he soaked up all the information it provided eagerly, enjoyed how the author described other wizards' and witches' clothing style – even though he belittled it most of the time – and their daily life and leisure activities.

Lockhart mentioned Ministry officials and a _Ministry of Magic, _a sport called Quidditch played on flying brooms, he talked about _Galleons_ – a special currency wizards used –, greedy goblins, centaurs and unicorns.

With every page Harry turned, his longing to see this world with his own eyes grew stronger. He wanted to have a wand, to learn the locking spell Lockhart used to get into the house of the werewolf and tripping jinx that allowed him to slow the monster down.

_"Cold, so cold…"_

A quiet voice startled Harry out of his musings. He looked around in confusion.

_"Cold and wet, so cold…"_

There it was again! It was definitely coming from outside. Harry leaned out of the window as far as he could without loosing his balance, but didn't see anybody. Weird.

He looked out of all the windows in the small hut – minus the one in Al's bedroom, which was locked – but still didn't see anyone.

_"Heat, need heat…" _

The voice sounded weaker this time. Harry pushed down the uneasy feeling that spread in his tummy, opened the front door and stepped out into the rain.

_"Blood so cold, so cold…"_

Harry followed the sound of the voice; it was coming from somewhere close by, somewhere _beneath _him. Harry crouched down on the rain soaked ground and looked around.

"Where are you?" Harry asked because even though he would swear that he was right next to the voice by now, he still couldn't see anybody.

_"Cold…"_

"Yes, I know," Harry said, "but I can't help you if you don't tell me where you are!"

_"Cold... heat…"_

The voice seemed to be coming from _under _a pile of wood that was situated next to the door. Cursing loudly, Harry lay down on the floor and crawled closer to get a better view.

"Hello?" He said as he peeked under the pile of wood feeling more than a little silly.

_"Cold!"_ The voice answered and moments later a small _snake_ appeared. _"You're help?"_

It took Harry a moment to realize that it was indeed the snake that was talking, and another few seconds to get over the shock that caused.

Well… jumping chocolate frogs, moving pictures and now speaking snakes. No need to freak out, just another day in this new crazy life of his.

_"You won't bite me, will you?"_ Harry asked just to make sure.

_"You bring heat. I won't bite."_

Hesitantly – he hadn't forgotten the biting owl yet – Harry offered his arm to the snake. _"Crawl on my arm, I'll take you inside. It's warm there."_

With the snake wrapped around his forearm Harry went back inside. He put it on the floor near the stove where it was the warmest, and then immediately took off his wet, muddy clothes. He took a seat next to the snake, after this little adventure he too craved the warmth of the fire.

The snake didn't look magical at all. No special colours, no wings, just a plain, boring snake. Apart from the whole speaking thing, of course.

_"Where are you from?"_ Harry said.

The snake flickered its tail in the direction of the door. Right.

_"Do you know Al?_" Harry asked next. When the snake didn't answer Harry elaborated. _"The old man who lives here, I mean?"_ The snake shook its head.

After they sat in silence for a while – and wasn't it weird that you could sit in anything but silence with a snake? – Harry asked his next question: _"What do you eat?"_

Apparently food was a good topic. The snake opened its eyes again and blinked at Harry. _"Mice are lovely. And chicks, fluffy chicks, they are more lovely. They are very good."_

_"Oh. I eat rabbits,"_ Harry said, trying to keep the conversation going.

_"Rabbits are a heavy meal," _the snake said, and Harry thought it sounded a tiny bit impressed.

When Al came home in the evening, Harry was still sitting by the oven, still only clothed in shorts. Al looked tired. His robes were wet from the rain and his boots too dirty to make out their original colour.

"Al! You're back. Look what I found!" Harry scrambled to his feet, grabbed Al's arm and tugged him towards the oven.

"A snake? Why did you bring it inside?" Al asked and looked at Harry in confusion.

"Not just any snake, Al," Harry said, "a _speaking _snake! We've been talking all afternoon. He told me he likes to eat baby birds; can you believe it? So gross. "

"He told you?" Al repeated and looked down at Harry questioningly. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." Why was Al acting so weird? A person who knew of the existence of hopping cauldrons and singing quills should be used to talking snakes, shouldn't they?

"Can you show me?" There was a soft tremor in Al's voice, confusing Harry further.

"Sure," he said nevertheless and turned back to the snake.

_"Hey, wake up."_ Harry nudged the snake carefully. _"I want to introduce you to Al."_

A loud gasp made Harry turn around. Al was _staring_ at him. Staring as though he'd never seen Harry before.

"Everything alright?" Harry hated how timid his voice sounded, but he couldn't hide how much Al's reaction was freaking him out. It was just a talking snake, for god's sake!

"Harry Potter," Al said his name slowly and stared as Harry's face with an unnatural concentration. He looked as if he was trying to solve a complicated puzzle.

"What's your mother's maiden name?" Al said out of the blue.

His mother's maiden name? Maybe he should be worrying about Al's mental health… Maybe something happened to him while he was away…

"Your mother's maiden name, do you know it?" Al asked insistently and grabbed Harry's shoulder.

"N-no," Harry said. Aunt Petunia had never mentioned either the name of his grandparents or her own maiden name. "I don't. My parents have been dead for a long time. I don't know much about them."

Al was pacing through the kitchen in agitation. "And her first name?"

"Lily."

"Lily. Lily. Nickname or given name?"

"Her real name, I think."

Al continued walking up and down the room murmuring his mother's name, and Harry started to feel a bit scared.

_"You smell salty," _a voice commented from the ground, and Harry saw that the snake had raised his head and was watching him.

_"What?"_

At the sound of Harry's voice Al stopped pacing.

"You're parselmouth, Harry."

"I'm what?"

"A parselmouth! Didn't those people you lived with teach you anything? You're snake speaker!"

Harry looked down at the snake, then back at Al. "A snake speaker? But he's speaking English!"

"No, no, it's not! You're speaking parseltongue, the tongue of snakes." Al's cheeks were flushed; he was talking so fast he was nearly stumbling over the words. "I have no clue what it's saying, and don't understand you when you're talking to it either! A real parselmouth, I can't believe it. I thought they die out."

"Died out?"

"Yes, it's hereditary. Only one family was known for this talent."

"That's why you wanted to know my mother's maiden name?"

"Of course. She must have been a descendant of Slytherin."

Al went to the shelf and poured himself a generous glass of Firewhisky. The first time Harry had seen Al drink whisky – right after they'd finished unpacking the package – he'd been afraid that Al might turn into another Vernon Dursley when he was drunk. Thankfully Al said he only drank the whisky because he liked the taste, and hardly ever enough to get drunk.

He sat down and stared at Harry some more.

"How old are you?"

"Eleven."

"Eleven?" Al sounded disbelievingly.

"What?" Harry snapped. He knew he was small for his age, no need to rub it in.

"I thought you were nine, ten at most. Eleven is the age wizard's usually start their magical education."

"You mean I'm old enough for a wand? A real wand?"

Al laughed. "Yes, I think you are."

Harry felt so excited it was hard for him to stand still. He wanted to go and buy a wand right now, and then he wanted to learn how to fly and fight werewolves and pet unicorns and…

"Where do I get a wand? Can we go tomorrow?"

Al seemed to hesitate for a moment; his smile disappeared. "Usually young wizards buy them at Ollivanders in wizarding London, but… I don't go there. Ever."

Ever? Then how was he supposed to get his wand? Harry's heart sank to his stomach. He had no idea where exactly he was or how to get to London, let alone the wizarding part of London.

"So, no wand?" Harry tried to sound less heartbroken then he felt, but he was not sure succeeded. He didn't want to make Al feel bad about this, the old man had done so much for him already.

Al looked at him and the snake to his feet for what seemed like an eternity; then he stood and left the room.

Harry stared after him. Tears were welling up in his eyes but he rubbed them away angrily. He refused to cry like a baby. He would simply get a wand later, when he was old enough to go to London by himself. Yes, he'd just wait a bit.

The kitchen door opened and Al stepped back into the room, carrying a narrow box. When Al sat it on the table in front of them, Harry saw that it was covered with a thick coat of dust.

"That," Al said, looking at Harry solemnly, "was my grandfathers wand. He entrusted it to me, and now I'm entrusting it to you. It might not be an ideal fit, but I'm sure you'll do this wand proud for as long as you'll use it."

"Your grandfather's wand?" Harry wasn't sure he should accept this. If he had something that belonged to his parents, he didn't know if he could give it away like this.

"It would've made my grandfather proud to know that a parselmouth, a descendent of Salazar himself, is using his wand," Al said with finality.

Harry held his breath as Al opened the box, barely daring to believe that this was really happening. The wand inside was beautiful, made of dark wood, lying on a velvet cushion.

Harry reached his hand out slowly. His fingers tingled where they touched the wood and the wand trembled before it calmed down and allowed Harry to pick it up. Sparks of gold and blue were flying from its tip and for a moment Harry thought he could feel a soft breeze.

Al smiled. "Yes, we can definitely work with this."

* * *

><p><em>Reviews are a great way to show appreciation. Or criticism. Both is very welcome.<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_The long announced time-jumps are here. _

_To the best of my knowledge, Harry Potter does not belong to me. _

* * *

><p>- 5 -<p>

_._

_1992_

Albus appeared in one of Hogwarts' dungeons in a bright flame of phoenix fire. He wasn't the least bit surprised to find his Defence teacher already there, kneeling in front of the Mirror of Erised, the stone thankfully still safe inside. The school year was almost over and he had suspected that Quirrel would make a move for the stone soon.

What did catch him by surprise though, was the blood curdling scream that resounded in the chamber and the _spirit_ that seemed to be in the process of removing itself from the back of the teacher's head. The turban Quirrel usually wore was lying on the floor discarded, the smell of garlic heavy in the air.

Blood red eyes, so full of hatred, for him, for the world, for the creature itself – to call the being human would be blasphemy –, stared back at him.

"Albus," the spirit all but _hissed,_ "so we meet again."

_'Tom', _Albus wanted to say but couldn't.

Tom was a lonely boy in an orphanage.

A brilliant student.

A murderer at the age of sixteen.

A charismatic but cruel young man.

A middle-aged man marked by life, scarred by dark magic.

A megalomaniac, sadist, dark wizard.

Above all _Tom_ was a man.

Albus couldn't bring himself to call this sad, distorted shade of a man by that name.

"What have you done to yourself?" He asked instead, eyes fixed on the malevolent spirit, while he started waving his wand discreetly.

_Its _high-pitched laughter reminded Albus of fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.

"What have _I _done? You dare?" It screeched. "_This… this _is what your precious saviour reduced me to. A bodiless wraith, just strong enough to talk, to possess…"

Albus twirled his wand hurriedly in small circles, and razor-thin threads of pure light fled from its tip and sank into the ground.

"But now… what will you do now Albus? Without the child of the prophecy to hide behind, what will you do?"

The tendrils of light had nearly reached the ground right below the spirit when it suddenly shuddered, as if it had felt them approach.

"Trying to cage me, Albus? Me? You fool."

With one last pull, followed by an inhuman shriek of Quirrel's, Voldemort left his servant and fled through the wall on the opposite side of chamber. At the same time Albus gave up all pretences of inaction and moved his wand to the front, spinning it between his fingers rapidly, urging the light threads to travel faster, to touch, to cage – but he was too late.

Voldemort was gone, Quirrel's lifeless body the only reminder of his presence.

.

"Diffindo," Harry said and a few steps from where he was lying in the grass, soaking up the summer sun, several flower heads fell to the ground.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

They rose high up into the air and Harry directed their flight like a conductor guiding his orchestra.

In the beginning, he'd only been able to levitate single, very light objects over a short period of time, but it seemed the old muggle saying "practice makes perfect" was also true for magic, and by now Harry could use the charm on several objects simultaneously. The heavier ones were still a bit tricky, but he was getting there.

For Harry the knowledge that magic was real, that he could use it, was still wondrous and he practiced it everyday; sometimes so much that it annoyed even Al, who, at least in the beginning, had been obsessed with watching Harry perform magic.

Harry often wondered why Al didn't perform magic himself. Once, a few days after receiving his wand, Harry had asked Al outright if he even was a wizard because he had never seen him perform any magic. The atmosphere in the cosy kitchen had grown tense in the blink of an eye.

"My blood is pure enough," was all Al had said, and that had been the end of the matter - at least for the old man. To this day Harry had no idea what Al had been talking about.

_"Sweet mouse, stay still, sweet, sweet mouse…" _

Harry stood, looking for the source of the voice. Soon he found the snake in question. It was an adder, like all the other snakes Harry had encountered in these woods so far.

It was slithering through the grass, completely focused on the hunt. Harry didn't see the mouse the reptile was speaking of, but he was sure it was there. He'd watched snakes hunt often enough.

They were deadly predators, superior to their prey in everyway. They moved so quietly that not even the sensitive ears of rodents could pick up any noise, they moved so fast that even the quickest mouse had no chance of escaping.

That was what had captured Harry's attention, his fascination in the first place: As soon as a snake set eyes on their prey, it had _no chance. _

And that was even without taking their poison into account.

The adder was moving more slowly now. It was a beautiful specimen, with scales of a light brown that glistened in the morning sun as it moved, and a dorsal zigzag pattern of such a dark shade of brown that it swallowed any light it was touched by.

Harry didn't dare move, afraid he would scare away the mouse or distract the snake in a crucial moment.

_"I smell blood… warm blood."_

The snake was completely still now and Harry held his breath. Then, so fast that Harry didn't even really see it, it stroke. The next moment Harry heard the desperate squeaking of a mouse in mortal agony. He could see it now, squirming in pain while the adder's venom worked through its body.

He didn't feel sorry for the mouse. It was just like Al had said: The stronger ones triumph over the weaker ones. Such was life. Such was the natural order of things.

_._

_1993_

"Are you finished?" Al asked somewhat impatiently and Harry, who had just swallowed the last bite of his breakfast, looked up in surprise.

"Yes," he said and scrutinized the old man carefully. Al was never impatient; there was just no need to be when one lived in the woods, far away from civilisation.

"Great," said Al and reached for the kitchen shelf. He took a small parcel from the upmost board and handed it to Harry.

"Happy Birthday."

Harry stared at the parcel in his hands in wonder. The wrapping was a yellowed piece of parchment decorated with inky fingerprints and wax stains. Harry knew it was probably just a discarded page, but to him it looked like a treasure map.

"Well, open it," Al grumbled.

Carefully, Harry pulled on the string that held the package together and the wrapping fell open. Inside was a knife.

Its handle was made of soft, dark leather, the colour not unlike the one of Harry's wand, and ended in a pommel of steel decorated with small symbols.

A barrier between handle and blade made sure that the hand couldn't accidentally slip onto the blade, and given how sharp the two-edged blade looked, Harry thought it was a necessary precaution.

"A knife?" He asked as he picked it up to try out how it felt in his hand. The leather was warm, as if another person had been holding it for quite some time before him. The blade, only slightly longer than his hand, had wave like patterns, reminding Harry of oil on a water surface but lacking the typical rainbow colours.

"A dagger," Al corrected him. "Every man should know how to wield one. At 13 you're old enough to learn. Take it and follow me."

"Thanks Al." Harry grinned and scrambled to his feet to follow the old man outside.

Three hours later Harry returned to the kitchen bemoaning his fate. Of course the old man he lived with had to be the fastest, trickiest bastard in Britain. People Al's age were supposed to sit around carving wood and complaining about their eyesight, they were not supposed to be able to beat the shit out of teenagers!

Harry was only glad Al had had the decency to use a wooden stick instead of a real dagger, or he would be a few body parts short.

In the privacy of his mind Harry added yet another mystery to Al's persona. Where had he learned to fight like that? And why?

Over the next couple of weeks Harry spent a few hours each day training with his dagger. Sometimes Al would join him and show him new stuff, other times Harry practiced alone.

Al taught Harry several arm and leg movements to avoid attacks; they changed depending on the body part the opponent went for.

If Al for instance tried to hit the right side of his upper body, Harry now knew he had to move towards the right side with his right leg and then use his right arm to displace Al's attack.

It was complicated and after a few hours of this Harry's brain felt worse than it had after a full day of school back when he'd still been living with the Dursleys.

By September they were using real daggers in their mock fights and Harry thought his progress was quite acceptable, even impressive. Many of the movements Al had taught him had become so familiar to him over the daily repetitions that he didn't even have to think about them anymore, but reacted instinctively with the right manoeuvre.

Al did not agree.

"You hesitate too much! Use your full strength this time."

Harry nodded and concentrated on Al's movement, trying to predict where the next attack would strike. Al went for Harry's left ribcage and Harry instinctively moved forward intercepting Al's arm with his left hand. Now he had an opportunity to strike, he should strike… but he didn't want to hurt Al. What if…

"No, no, no!" Al shouted. "You can't hesitate like that. Attack, god damn it!"

"I was about to-"

"Too slow. Too much thinking."

Al took a few steps back and scrutinized Harry carefully.

"Have you actually used your knife for real yet?" He asked after some time spent in silence.

Harry looked at Al incredulously. "Um, everyday for the past two months?"

Al shook his had in exasperation. "No, I mean have you ever seen what that knife can do? On a living, breathing, body?"

"What? No. You're the only person I fight with, you know that."

Al rolled his eyes. "Not on a human, stupid." He looked at his watch, then back at Harry. "Well, maybe that's the problem. We still have three hours until the sun goes down. Come along."

Al limped into the woods, Harry at his heels.

"Bloody knee," he cursed. "Don't ever grow old. Not worth the hassle," he said through clenched teeth while he picked up a long branch from the ground. With his new walking aid they moved much faster.

Now watching Al, Harry could hardly believe that Al had managed to hide his obvious pain during their fight – but then again, today was not the first time this had happened.

Harry had once asked Al how he could just ignore an injury when they were fighting, it didn't make sense to Harry. When you were in pain, you were in pain. There was no way around it.

'Determination. Prioritisation. You'll learn in time,' was all his teacher had said.

Soon Harry realised where Al was leading them. This was the path they took when Al was hunting for game.

Not much later they reached a small clearing, and indeed, a few deer were grazing on the meadow, enjoying the mild evening sun.

They were still far enough away not to scare the deer off, though the silencing charm Harry had to put on their boots regularly probably also helped.

"Summon one," Al said pointing in the direction of the animals.

"Summon?" Harry watched the deer closely. All of the animals for fully grown, he'd never summoned anything this heavy before. He was about to protest, but the irritated expression on Al's face stopped him in his tracks. Determined he pulled out his wand. He could do this. It was no different than summoning firewood. Only about a hundred times heavier and _alive_. He gulped.

"Careful," said Al, apparently noticing his distress. "Don't knock yourself out. I won't carry you back."

How comforting. Harry briefly glared at Al and went back to his task.

"Accio," he uttered reluctantly, wand pointed at one of the smaller specimen. It didn't even so much as flinch.

Al sat down on a moss covered tree stump to relieve his leg, and watched Harry with eagle eyes.

Bloody great.

"Accio," he said again, more forcefully this time. The doe in question was yanked in his direction for a few metres but got away in the end. It took off in the opposite direction at high speed.

The rest of the deer was nervous now, many moving to leave.

"Hurry," Al grumbled.

"Accio!" Harry tried for a third time. By now he was in a bad mood. Al was expecting too much. The summoning charm was one of the hardest he'd learned so far, especially when it involved great distances or heavy targets. He was tempted to tell Al to shove it and try himself if he thought it that easy, when suddenly the animal he had focused on, a young stag with hardly visible antlers, zoomed at him.

With a cry that had the rest of the deer running in fright, Harry jumped out of the way and the stag crashed into the tree behind where Harry had been standing only seconds before.

The stag dropped to the ground, animalistic screams of pain echoing through the woods like slowly building thunder.

Harry had never heard anything like it. The panicked squeaks of a mouse or rabbit right before their death didn't bother him anymore, but they were nothing compared to this.

He had the sudden urge to block his ears with both hands and close his eyes, or better yet, run away, but he knew Al would never accept him showing weakness like that.

"What now?" He asked, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"Now," said Al, who seemed to remain completely unaffected by the suffering animal on the ground, "you'll get to see what that dagger can do. Kill it."

"Kill it?"

"Yes. You'll be putting it out of its misery, if that makes you feel any better."

Harry ignored the mocking undertone in Al's voice and grabbed his dagger. "How?"

"Slit its throat. Makes them bleed out pretty fast."

Harry clutched the dagger in his hands so hard that his fingers became numb. He walked towards the stag slowly. He had never killed a stag, or any deer for that matter, before. They were too strong, too heavy, too grand for him. Only Al ever hunted them.

The animal was trying to get to its feet, but apparently its wounds were too severe.

With its cries still ringing in his ears he bent down, and with a quick move – the image of a striking snake flittered through his mind unbitten – he slit the stag's throat. The blade cut through the fur, skin and muscle tissue like butter.

Blood shot out of the wound like water out of the garden hose in aunt Petunia's garden, when Dudley had been standing on it while the water was turned on. It covered his hand and drenched his under sleeve, even splashed on his face, but Harry took no notice of it.

He was watching the stag's eyes. They were of a deep brown, shining with desperation and fear, moving around erratically until suddenly they remained fixed on a point behind Harry. It was like he could see the intelligence, the life, leaving them, but Harry wasn't disgusted or even scared by this as he had expected to be, no he was _fascinated. _

_He_ was the reason these bright eyes dulled. _He_ was the reason they would never see again. _He _was the last thing they'd seen.

_He_, Harry, the too small boy from Number 4, was superior to this strong, fast, _majestic_ animal. He, his magic, his determination had triumphed over the _King of the Woods._

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><p><em>Two years gone by in the blink of an eye. The next chapter will start with what would have been Harry's third year at Hogwarts. <em>

_What do you think of this faster pace?_

_Also: Do you think I should rate this story M? I'm not sure how explicitly describing the killing of animals should be rated. _

**_Thanks for reading. If you want to, drop a review on your way out. _**

_I love reading each and every one of them. _

_(Even harsh criticism, if you feel like dishing it out.) _


	6. Chapter 6

_Harry Potte doesn't belong to me. _

_I was in a hurry when I wrote this chapter - University isn't giving me any rest this time of the year - so I'm sorry if there are more mistakes than usual in this chapter. I just wanted to get it out there and don't leave you waiting too long. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless._

* * *

><p>- 6 -<p>

.

**_1996_**

Silence. Peaceful silence. Harry floated in nothingness, darkness, light. The pain from earlier was gone. Or maybe there had been no pain to begin with.

Was he flying? Yes. Flying. Finally. He should open his eyes, look around, watch the sky, the clouds, the woods from above.

He turned around, flying upside down. Flying, soaring through the air. Harry laughed in exhilaration but couldn't hear his own voice. Maybe the wind took it away, snatched the sound as soon as it left his mouth and made it echo behind him like the white trail lingering in the wake of a plain?

A sudden pain, flaring in his chest, jolted Harry out of his musing. Something was missing, wrong, very wrong, he just didn't know what yet.

He moved his arms, trying to find balance, but they moved sluggishly, slowly, as if something was holding them, him down.

Air. That was what he was missing. That was why his lungs were on fire. He opened his mouth to take in a deep, relieving breath of fresh air, only to find water pouring in. He choked, coughed, tried to get rid of the liquid that seemed to be filling his lungs with ice, fuelling the fire. But only more came in.

And with the water the memories came back. A blow to the head. Darkness. Voices. Darkness.

He became aware of the coldness of the water surrounding him, needling his skin, freezing his muscles.

Somewhere deep inside he knew that he had to fight, to swim, to get to the surface, to the live saving air.

He opened his eyes but only more darkness welcomed him. Where was up and where down? Left and right?

Moving his arms became harder by the second. He felt his energy leaving him, felt his limbs cease to fight – and maybe he should stop fighting, the water didn't feel so cold anymore, the darkness less frightening.

Maybe this was, were it was supposed to end, his wonderful dream of magic and a Dursley-free life.

If he closed his eyes and ignored the fire in his chest, then he could still believe he was flying. It wasn't so bad to die while flying, high up in the air, in freedom.

_Al._ The old man's face appeared before his eyes, clear as if he was standing right in front of Harry. '_I should have listened to you. I'm sorry.' _

_._

_About three years earlier_

**_1993_**

He stretched his claws, sank them deep into the muddy sand of the coast. Just a little bit farther, just a bit more strength, and with one last, strong forward jerk he was out of the water, out of the cold.

He made it. He made it. He felt light headed, light hearted. For the first time in years there was hope, a silver lining on the horizon, a light at the end of the tunnel that was his life.

He wanted nothing more then to lay down and rest, sleep free of the oppressing presence of his guards, but he knew that he couldn't rest yet, that he had to run and get away from here as fast as possible. Soon they would discover his disappearance, soon they would send Aurors and Dementors to come after him, to catch him and cage him once again.

His legs trembled as he pulled himself up once again. By all rights, he shouldn't have the strength to continue, starved and weak as he was, but then again, he shouldn't have managed to escape in the first place. His hope gave him strength, for the first time in years he was filled with a purpose. He had to save Harry. Peter – a shudder of anger and disgust, of deep, boiling hate ran through his body at the mere thought of the traitor – was at Hogwarts, Harry wasn't safe.

.

Knockturn Alley was as dirty as he remembered. He was hiding in a corner opposite a dingy pub. The nearest streetlight was broken. _Still_, he thought, and suddenly old memories of better times overcame him.

Memories of the summer after his sixth year, when James and he had still been carefree, filled with dreams, hopes and no small amount of recklessness.

They'd come here, to this pub, to drink firewhisky, to sit at a bar and feel grown-up and rebellious. They'd stumbled out of the pub sometime in the wee hours of the morning, when it had still been late enough to leave undetected but early enough that they could feel the rising sun, the nearing daylight in the air.

They'd been sloshed beyond comprehension, had been laughing and singing stupid rhymes… Then one of them, probably James, had remarked that the streetlight was broken, that nobody could see them here. And as one – so in tune as he had only ever been with James – they had turned to this corner, this corner right here, where he was sitting now, where the darkness was even deeper, and had transformed into their animagus forms and then raced each other down the street. Stag and dog, bumping into each other from time to time because they had been too drunk to run straight, accompanied by animalistic cries of freedom and laughter.

When the pub's door opened with a slight cringing of the hinges and stopped his painful trip down memory lain, Sirius was so thankful for the interruption that he nearly felt bad for what he was about to do.

But it wasn't as if he had many options left.

A drunken wizard stumbled out of the pub, wand in hand, slurring something that could have meant _Lumos_ or something else completely.

Too tense to wait any longer, Sirius crouched down and pushed himself off the ground with all the might his emaciated legs would allow, his eyes were fixed on the stumbling wizard's wand hand and one moment later his mouth closed around the thin wooden stick.

He dashed away, fled down the same street he and James had run down years ago, but instead of laughter, this time his run was followed by the furious swearing of a wandless wizard.

.

Harry was gone.

At first he hadn't wanted to believe it. But with every old Daily Prophet he found, with every article he read, the truth became more inevitable.

Harry was gone and nobody knew where he was.

With a furious swish of his wand, Sirius sat the whole pile of painstakingly collected newspapers on fire. That little act of destruction didn't help release his anger in the least.

"Bombarda," he said and watched with a smile of grim satisfaction as a few stones broke out of a nearby wall.

"Bombarda," he said again and again. The cave he was hiding in crumbled around him, dust was heavy in the air and sank down on his sweaty skin and unwashed hair.

"Bombarda! Bombarda! Bombarda!"

The rocks above the entrance began to tremble, but Sirius didn't stop.

Harry was gone.

What was he supposed to do now?

Find Harry? He was a fugitive. He didn't have any connections, any friends left.

"Bombarda!" A huge rock fell down, right in front of the entrance, blocking out most the sunlight.

All he had wanted to do was find Peter, kill Peter, tear Peter limb from limb, watch him suffer, writhe in agony…

"Bombarda!"

Then Harry would have been safe again. Then he could have left with the knowledge that he had done at least something to redeem himself – even if he could never fully repay his debt. Even if his mistakes were to grave to ever be forgiven.

James and Lily were dead because of him. And now Harry was gone.

He had to change his plans. He couldn't simply kill Peter and disappear. He had to find a way to look for Harry, had to find a way to get in touch with his old friends again... He was Harry's godfather; he was the person James had trusted with the wellbeing of his only son. He had to do something.

.

1994

"Wingardium Leviosa," said Harry, his wand pointed at the broom Al used to sweep the hut.

It was an old thing, with dirty fingerprints on the stick and bristles protruding in every which way.

Al had forbidden him to enchant this broom to fly, and didn't budge even after Harry had nagged him every evening about it for two weeks in a row. Apparently racing brooms that were made specifically for flying differed a lot from normal brooms. But Harry didn't care, he wanted to try flying, and Al, who was away for a few days like every spring, couldn't stop him this time.

The broom hovered mid-air and Harry looked at it questioningly. The slender broomstick didn't look too inviting, more like it would hurt to sit on it, really.

Harry harrumphed, resolutely swung his legs over the broom and bent his knees to lift his feet from the ground.

This position was supremely uncomfortable, but Harry gritted his teeth, he was determined to fly. He gripped the broom handle tightly with his left hand; the other one was still holding the wand. It might not be ideal – or all that safe – but that wouldn't stop him. Not now that he was about to fly for the first time.

He directed the broom with his wand, made it fly higher, until he was on eye level with the chimney on their hut.

It was… okay. The high trees surrounding their clearing blocked his view, sitting hurt even more now that he moved around and directing his flight with his wand just wasn't the same as he had imagined.

His wand arm hurt a bit from holding it up all the time, but he couldn't put it down or the broom would follow.

When he'd read about flying in Al's books it sounded magnificent – souring through the air at high speed, the broom following the body's movement so quickly it felt like an extension of it.

This… no, this was nothing like he had imagined. Disappointed Harry directed the broom to sink down to the ground.

He winced in pain as he got off the broom, left it lying in the grass and went inside to get himself a glass of water.

The Levitation Charm obviously wasn't the right method to make a broom fly. There had to be different charms to accomplish that, ones that he hadn't yet learned. Charms that weren't in any of the books Al had given to him so far – Harry had perused them repeatedly – but maybe in other books…

Harry put his drinking glass down, left the kitchen and went to Al's bedroom. Like always the door was locked, but Harry knew a charm that could help with that.

He hesitated for a moment – this was Al's room, and Al never allowed Harry to go in there… but he wanted to fly, and he was only looking for books. Books Al would give to him sooner or later anyway.

Harry looked over his shoulder - Al had only just left this morning, he shouldn't be back until the day after tomorrow at least, but better save than sorry – then lifted his wand.

"Alohomora."

The door clicked open so easily that Harry wanted to laugh out loud. Magic was incredible.

He opened it only slightly, slipped through the gap and closed it softly behind himself.

The room was bigger than Harry had thought. Like everywhere in the hut, ceiling and floor were clad in dark wood, but the walls, in all the other rooms made of wood too, were different.

They were of a dark green, reminding Harry of the forest, and above Al's double bed was an emblem depicting a silver snake. Beneath the snake was a banner embroidered with words Harry couldn't read. The letters looked odd and the words seemed to be written in a foreign language too.

Harry walked in further, there was a desk opposite the bed, and above it wizarding photos on the walls.

One seemed to be a family portrait, showing a few old people, probably parents, even older ones (the grandparents?) and quite a lot of children.

All of them, even the youngest children, bore a haughty expression, nobody smiled.

The next photo was of a young boy with a pageboy haircut who was sitting on a white-haired man's lap, ripping the wrapping paper off a parcel. The parcel nearly dropped to the ground and the old man had to intervene. Both man and boy were laughing. Then the scene started anew.

Suddenly Harry realized that the boy on in the picture was probably Al, and he looked down uncomfortably. He felt like he had intruded on a private part of Al's life that he had had no right to see. Not without Al's permission.

The next second though, all thoughts of respecting Al's privacy were forgotten. There, in the centre of the table was one of the mysterious letters Al always got by owl, the letters he never allowed Harry to read, never even told Harry what they were about. The letters that were the reason Al from time to time disappeared for a few days.

Harry's stomach fluttered, he was nervous and pretty sure that he shouldn't read this letter, but his curiosity was overwhelming.

He wanted to know why Al disappeared, where he disappeared to, what he did there… and the answers to all these questions were right in front of him.

He bent over the table and started to read.

_London._

_ Mary Marshall._

_ 05.10.1960_

_ 5'6''_

_ XX_

_ London. _

_ Thomas Reid. _

_ 23.04.1953_

_ 6'3''_

_ XXX_

_ Bristol. _

_ Michael Jenkins. _

_ 27.09.1957_

_ 5'8''_

_XX_

Next to every name was a muggle photograph of the person. Harry stared at the letter some more, as if trying to get it to tell him its hidden meaning, then turned away.

He wasn't any wiser than before. The names and pictures made no sense to him. Who were these people? Did Al have to meet them? Give them something to? Take something from them? Maybe even _do something to them_?

Frustrated he went to the bookshelves that dominated the wall opposite the door. There had to be a few hundred books on these shelves, too many, Harry soon realized, for him to find the one his was looking for among them without help.

He left the room more frustrated than ever before.

.

The last class of the day was over, and Remus Lupin was looking forward to a nice, quiet evening.

After dealing with overexcited first and second years for the better part of his day _– 'But Professor, my mother said the wand movement is-' 'Professor, can you show me again?' 'Professor, Anne is cheating, I know it!' 'Professor, look, look, I did it!' 'Can you give us a hint for the test? Just one hint, please!'_ – he really needed some peace.

His old leather arm-chair, a cup of tea and a good book (preferably something that had nothing to do with his lesson plan, for once). Maybe he'd finally get around finishing the muggle detective story Albus had given to him for Christmas…

So when he opened his door, his thoughts circling around the mystery in his book, and saw a person he'd hoped to never see again standing behind his desk, his first, irrational thought was, that he had to delay his reading once again.

Then reality caught up with him. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at his old friend, his traitor turned friend.

"You," he hissed, his voice carrying all of the anger, the pain, the disappointment he felt whenever he thought of the man now standing opposite him.

Sirius was holding a wand too, his hand was shaking.

"Moony."

Remus flinched. "Don't, don't call me that. You have no right."

Sirius looked down. "Remus then. Please, just listen, I have to-"

"Listen? To you?" He took in a deep breath. "You dare come here? After what you have done?"

"I understand that you're angry-"

Remus severely doubted this. A man capable of what Sirius had done could never understand the depth of his feelings.

"-but please. Just take a look at it."

"You have no right to ask anything of me. I'm going to call Dumbledore. You won't get away this time." His voice was shaking.

Sirius looked bad; his face gaunt, his once proud stance ducked under an invisible burden.

"Remus, please. Just take a look. It- it wasn't me." It seemed to take great effort for Sirius to speak these words. "I didn't betray them. Peter did."

"Peter?" Remus said. "You killed Peter. You killed him after you betrayed Lily and James."

"No. I didn't, I swear. Just take a look. Please."

His voice was so insistent, so desperate, that Remus couldn't help but glance down on the desk.

His breath hitched. There was a parchment lying on his desk, a parchment he knew all to well and had thought lost long ago. The Marauder's Map.

"Why?"

"Just do it. Please. The Gryffindor Common Room. Please."

With a swish of his wand, eyes still trained on the traitor, the parchment flew in his outstretched hands. He looked down at it, his eyes searching for the all to familiar Common Room and what he saw nearly made him lower his wand unconsciously.

"Peter Pettigrew," he breathed, not understanding what he was seeing. "But how?"

"I never was the Secret Keeper, Peter was. We have to catch him. Please Remus."

Remus didn't know what to say. This was a trick, the map had to be wrong.

"The map never lies," Sirius said as if anticipating his thoughts.

"No, it doesn't," Remus had to agree.

He lowered his wand and Sirius did the same.

"You really didn't betray them?"

"Never."

Sirius sounded so sincere that Remus wanted nothing more than to believe him. But he couldn't decide this alone, maybe it was just a trick, an elaborate plan.

"I'll call for Dumbledore," he said in the end and conjured his patronus.

After his wolf patronus had left to find the headmaster, he leaned back against the wall behind him, fixing Sirius with his eyes. His former friend did the same.

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><p>Please leave a review!<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Another chapter. Had my first exam today, and as it went rather well I thought I'd give myself a break from studying and write something instead.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>- 7 -<p>

.

Summer 1994

"This is outrageous Dumbledore! You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid I am, Cornelius. I brought Peter Pettigrew to the Ministry myself. Aurors are questioning him as we speak."

The Minister took off his bowler hat and slumped back into the heavy leather chair behind his desk, which looked much too comfortable for an office.

"You talked to them? Black and Pettigrew? Are you sure Black is innocent?"

At Albus nod he groaned and buried his face in his hands. Moments later he seemed to realize the vulnerability of this action, and slowly folded his hands in his lap.

"This is a disaster. He can't be innocent. He was locked up for years! This going to be a PR nightmare, and not only in Britain! With the Quidditch Worldcup taking place here this year, international journalists will be crawling all over the place."

Albus remained silent, allowing the Minister to gather his thoughts.

"Maybe Pettigrew just hid because he was afraid of- of Black? Black could still be the real killer."

Albus supressed the exasperated sigh that wanted to escape him. Trust Cornelius to look for ways to avoid the truth as long as possible.

"From what I've learned so far, it's more likely that Sirius Black was innocent from the beginning and Pettigrew the real culprit."

Fudge shoulders slumped.

"Do you know what this means Albus? What this will look like? They'll descend on me like vultures! And I don't even want to think about the troubles certain families are going to make, when word gets out that Black was sent to Azkaban without trial. This is going to be a _nightmare_."

Albus eyes wandered to the big window on the right side of the Cornelius' desk, watching the busy comings and goings down in the Atrium, witches and wizards stepping in and out of fireplaces, colleagues chatting on their way out, delivery owls crossing paths… It was only an illusion – in reality the Minster's office was deep inside the bowls of the Ministry – but an accurate one, that allowed the Minister to oversee the happenings in the entrance hall.

Yes, he had come to the same conclusion as Cornelius, and it was indeed worrisome. He didn't think that any of the other Death Eaters incarcerated in Azkaban were innocent, and if any of Tom's faithful followers now managed to get released on the grounds of a procedural defect…

He had no doubt that Tom would return one day, and the idea of giving him an advantage like this irked Albus to no end, but with Peter Pettigrew's quite public reappearance – shocked and desperate for proof as he was, Remus had forced Peter into his human form in the midst of the Gryffindor common room, just as the rat was about to disappear through a crack in the wall – his hands were bound. They couldn't make this any less public if they tried; he only hoped that Sirius' case remained an exception.

"The Triwizard Tournament," Fudge suddenly blurted. "We'll have to postpone it until the worst is behind us. We don't need foreign Ministry Officials watching our every move." He shook his head vehemently. "This will tarnish our reputation enough as it is."

Albus silently agreed, though not for the same reason. He knew Cornelius craved prestige. He feared the Minister might rush through the rulings, not giving them the proper attention they needed, afraid of digging up old dirt under the watchful gaze of foreign Ministries.

"Madame Maxime expressed concern due to the situation with Black already, and I think Headmaster Karkaroff will quite readily agree to staying out of Britain in a time where old Death Eater trials are brought back to the public's attention. It shouldn't be hard to convince them that postponing is in their best interest."

For a moment Cornelius stared at him open mouthed, apparently not expecting Albus support.

"You think? Won't it cast a bad light on us if we postpone? I don't want anybody to think we're hiding something. Maybe-"

Albus felt the first signs of a weak headache above his eyes. It was tiresome dealing with a Minister as insecure as Cornelius. On some days Albus support reassured him in his decisions, on other days, like today it seemed, he allowed his delusions that Albus was after his position to cloud his judgement.

If only he showed the same level of wariness when it came to Lucius Malfoy.

"I think your idea was excellent, Cornelius. Peter Pettigrew's and Sirius Black's trial will demand the Ministry's full attention, as will any trials that might follow in their wake."

For a moment Cornelius seemed to hesitate, but then nodded and smiled thinly. "Of course, Albus. I just wish we didn't have to postpone it. Barty will be on my case for weeks! Has put a lot of effort into organizing the whole thing. But then again, with his personal history, his son being a Death Eater and all, he might understand."

Fudge was at his feet by now, and moving towards the door. "I'm a bit in a hurry now, Albus, you understand. I have to talk to Barty and should probably go down to the Auror Department too, with a case as important as this."

Albus smiled merrily. "After you, Cornelius. Sirius is in one of your holding cells at the moment, I can trust you will see to it that he is treated decently until his innocent is proven?"

"Sure, sure. Of course, wouldn't want to give him a reason to sue us." Cornelius lips twisted sourly.

"Excellent," Albus said, answering Cornelius less than happy expression with a beaming smile of his own, before he strode down the hall towards the elevator, purple robes flowing in his wake.

.

Spring 1995

"The letters, again?" Harry asked as Al got up from the breakfast table and immediately put on his shoes and got ready to leave.

It was that time of the year again. Al got letters four times a year, once every season. Not always at the same date though, and Harry had no idea how Al knew when they arrived.

"Yes," grumbled Al, his voice still rough and unused from the night. They never talked much during breakfast, neither of them was a morning person; they preferred to drink their tea in silence while they got ready for the day ahead.

Once the novelty of post owls had worn off, Harry had stopped accompanying Al to retrieve the letters. The march to the clearing took almost three hours and Harry had grown bored of the trip long ago.

"I'll go out hunting then. I think I'm in the mood for deer."

Al looked at him oddly, but grunted his consent.

Harry knew why Al looked at him that way. Ever since he'd first killed that stag with his knife, Harry's fascination with hunting had only grown. He couldn't really explain why, but the hunt thrilled him.

He didn't much care for shooting rabbits and pheasants with his bow and arrow, but hunting bigger animals, ones that were of superior strength and speed, ones that by all rights he shouldn't be able to kill with his bare hands and his small knife, hunting those was a thrill. Only he, his magic and his knife.

Maybe it was because of all the books about fighting dangerous magical creatures he read, maybe it was because he had nothing else to do and hunting was the only diversion he had…

In the end Harry didn't care. There was nothing wrong in enjoying a good hunt – lots of people did so, even the Queen, from what he had heard when he'd still been living with the Dursleys.

Shortly after Al had left, Harry grabbed his knife and went to the back of the house. There, in a cage Harry had built himself, sat a big brown rabbit, chewing on the bread crust Harry had given to it the day before.

"Petrificus totalus."

The rabbit fell to the side.

"Come on, big boy, time to go," said Harry, and with a murmured incantation and a swish of his wand, the rabbit rose up into the air and followed Harry into the woods.

The leaves on the deciduous trees were still young and light green, Harry's steps nearly soundless on the soft forest floor. Above him birds were chirping and, he noticed a little jealously, flying from one tree to another, and somewhere nearby he could make out the sound of a woodpecker busy at work.

Next to summer, spring was his favourite season. There was just so much life in the woods at this time of the year, the snakes woke up from hibernation and Harry could hear them hissing excitedly as they slithered through the undergrowth, baby animals were born, birds returned from their winter journey, and the evenings were growing longer and warmer again.

After half an hour's foot march, his path ascended slowly and the moss-covered forest floor gave way to a rockier underground. Soon he reached his favourite place in the woods, his cave. He'd found it the summer after he had turned twelve. Its entrance was broad enough for two people to go side-by-side, but not very high – Al had had to bow his head when Harry had shown it to him.

The cave was only a little bigger than the cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive, but a narrow path at its right end led deeper into the rocks.

Harry had of course followed it soon after discovering the cave. Sadly it didn't really lead anywhere, just to a dank, mouldy place, even smaller than the first cave and bereft of any sunlight.

Jumping from stone to stone he crossed the small river that flowed right past his cave and through the woods below. At last he stepped onto a narrow strip of pebble beach and climbed up to the cave – though to call what he was doing climbing was probably stretching it a bit. Al had been able to lift him up and sit him onto to edge of the stone without trouble.

Once inside he immediately went to the back of the cave to retrieve two pieces of wood, three short wooden sticks and a rather poor-looking book.

He sat down on the ground near the entrance of the cave where the light shone brightest, and opened the book. Next to him laid the petrified rabbit and two square plate-sized pieces of wood with identical inscriptions. The words were written at regular intervals, one on each side of the square.

_All's Well - Sick - Danger - Dead_

One piece was roughly hewn, the letters uneven, while the other was made with great care, and, as Harry could attest to, lots of time and effort.

_"…the day of the new moon, coat the watch hand with the enchanted blood. Let it rest for seven days, then repeat the process once for each lunar phase. On the 29th day, before the new moon rises once again, fix the hand to the clock."_

Harry picked up one of the sticks and put it in the middle of the roughly hewn version of the clock. He raised his wand and moved it in well-practiced motions while he chanted the long string of words written down in his book.

The dark red wood gleamed ominously in the sunlight, and to Harry it seemed as if it were getting hotter inside the cave, as if the stick were attracting and absorbing the light.

Well, he was doing magic. It probably was.

Once the spell was done, Harry lowered his wand and picked up the clock. The watch hand was attached to the centre of the square and pointing to '_Danger'_.

Harry looked down at the rabbit. Yes, being petrified and in the presence of a person that intended to kill you in the near future probably justified the watch hand's position.

He floated the rabbit down to the pebble beach and lifted the petrification. At first it hopped around nervously, confused by the change of location, but soon it calmed down and started sniffing at various stones and the weeds growing in-between.

The watch hand didn't move.

Harry lowered his wand and banned all thoughts of killing the rabbit, trying to make his presence as unthreatening as possible.

It still didn't move.

"I won't kill it, I won't. Okay?"

Great. Now he was talking to inanimate objects.

It worked though. The magic seemed to pick up on his sincere intention to leave the rabbit alive, and the watch hand slowly moved to _'All's Well'_.

Harry petrified the rabbit again – the watch hand switched to _'Danger'_ immediately – and climbed out of the cave, the two clocks as well as the rest of his stuff floating behind him.

Now that he was sure that his clock worked, he wasn't in the mood to go hunting any longer.

He had things to do, preparations to make!

He would have to find and enchant a container for their blood, he wanted to engrave Al's and his name into their respective watch hands, and maybe continue working on the watch itself for a while longer. Right now all it was decorated with were a few small wooden star he had carved into its surface.

All of a sudden the hours until Al's return didn't feel so long anymore.

.

Al came home in the late afternoon, once again carrying a small package.

"Thought you went hunting?" He said and looked around frowning.

"Had something better to do." Harry grinned and jumped to his feet. "So what's in there? Chocolate frogs? I haven't had any chocolate for ages."

"Yes, because you're a greedy little thing and ate all of it within two days," said Al and ruffled Harry's hair affectionately.

"Oi!" Harry cried out. "I used a flattening charm on it this morning!"

"Flattening charm? You sure about that? Could've fooled me."

Harry huffed indignantly and stomped inside.

"Why're you using a flattening charm anyway? It's not like anyone but me sees you."

"The snakes see me," Harry said. "They always remind me to style my hair and take good care of it, you know, because they have none."

"What?"

At the flabbergasted look on Al's face Harry couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Just kidding," he sniggered. "I had no idea you were so gullible."

"Well how should I know what matters to snakes. I can't talk to them."

He put the package onto the table and started cutting it open.

"Then you're just vain? When did that happen?"

"I'm not vain," Harry groused. "I just found the spell and wanted to try it out. No harm done."

"No harm done? Don't you know that beauty charms shrink the brain over time?"

Harry looked at Al horrified.

"A widely known fact. But I heard the effects aren't as bad when there isn't much to be harmed in the first place. Guess you're lucky."

"Not much to be…" Harry repeated slowly, then narrowed his eyes angrily. "You're lying, aren't you? There are no side effects!"

Al's eyes sparkled with laughter. "I had no idea you were so gullible, Harry."

Harry folded his arms, deciding to ignore Al for the time being. It was annoying. One time he managed to get one over the old man, and Al had to get back at him immediately. Now he couldn't even remind Al of the incident without being mocked in return.

"Will you stop sulking if I tell you that there's a whole package of frogs in here, just for you?"

Harry graciously let the comment about sulking slide, and took the proffered box of chocolates from Al's hand.

"I've got something else for you too."

Al handed Harry a leather-bound book. It wasn't hard to guess its content. The title, "_Salazar Slytherin", _didn't leave much to the imagination.

"It's a book about Slytherin, his life, his philosophy, thought it would be nice for you to have it. It's important to learn about family history, especially if one is as famous as yours."

Family. For the last few years Al had been all the family he needed, but maybe sometime in the future it would be nice to find out if he had other, blood related relatives too.

"Thanks Al, its great." He rounded the table to give Al a rare hug. "Oh, by the way, I've got something for you too!"

Even before he'd finished speaking, Harry was running outside to get his present.

It wasn't wrapped, but he didn't think Al cared much about that.

He hid it behind his back to keep it out of Al's view until he was standing right before him.

"Here you are." Harry gave his gift to Al and held his breath.

"Is that…" Al looked at the clock, then back at Harry. "Is that what I think it is? A family clock?"

Harry nodded.

"And you made it, all by yourself?"

"Yeah, took me awhile, but…"

"Of course it took you some time, it's incredible that you managed it at all, this is really advanced magic Harry. I'm very impressed."

Harry felt his face heat up. Al didn't dish out praise easily.

"I only ever saw a clock like this once before, it was slightly different though. It could tell what a person did, like working, travelling or sleeping."

"My book had instructions for that too, but it's harder to make and I thought it wouldn't be of much use. We don't do a lot of different things here."

The last sentence left a bitter taste in his mouth. While Harry enjoyed his life with Al a lot, and couldn't be more thankful that Al had taken him in instead of sending him back to the Dursleys, it was frustrating to never meet new people or go to different places.

Al nodded thoughtfully. "Quite right. So, I see the watch hands are not yet attached to it. What do we need to do?"

Pushing all negatives thoughts away, Harry hurriedly started explaining.

.

_Summer 1995_

Harry was sitting at the breakfast table, his book about Salazar Slytherin leaning against a jar of strawberry jam.

Salazar had been born to a family of wizards and grew up in the north of England, but left his birthplace sometime in his teenage years, presumably to take up an apprenticeship.

Not much was known about his life during the following years, he only resurfaced when he and three friends decided to found a School for Magic – Hogwarts.

From what Harry had read so far, Slytherin seemed to have been an impressive wizard. The book said he was skilled in the Mind Arts and had a special talent for something called Legilimency, which allowed a wizard or witch take a glimpse into another person's thoughts.

He was also famous for his ambition and cunning, traits the Slytherin house at Hogwarts still prized in its members.

His attitude towards muggles reminded Harry of Al. Salazar Slytherin thought of muggles as an inferior race and was against allowing muggleborn students into his school.

Another type of magic linked to Slytherin were the Dark Arts. Harry had never heard of them before.

He'd studied books on Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions, and sometimes the authors warned of the dangers of carelessly using certain spells, but he had never come across the term _Dark Magic_ before.

From what he could tell, it was some sort of battle magic, used predominantly in duels, but he hadn't been able to find anything more. No incantations, not even detailed descriptions of its effects.

He'd asked Al about it immediately after discovering the term, but Al hadn't been helpful at all. Only said that Harry was still too young to study it.

Which was rubbish, in Harry's humble opinion. He was 15, hardly a child anymore. His ancestor had ventured out into the world on his own while still in his teenage years, so he should at least be able to read books on whatever subject he wanted!

With that thought in mind, Harry once again unlocked Al's bedroom door to look for a book. Harry immediately discarded the books without titles; he didn't have the time to go through them page by page.

After about an hour in Al's room Harry finally found a book that looked promising. The title read '_Dark Secrets'_ and Harry hesitated for a moment before pulling it out.

"Don't be stupid. It's just a book," he murmured to himself before grabbing it.

With the book a picture fell out of the shelf. It showed a group of young men, all wearing similar black robes, standing in front on an impressive castle. Harry was about to put the picture back, when he recognised Al in one of the boys. He looked no older than 16 and was twirling a wand in his right hand.

A wand.

Harry stared at the picture open mouthed. He had never seen Al do any magic, and as Al stubbornly avoided talking about the topic, Harry had, shortly after discovering the existence of squibs in one of his books, come to the conclusion that Al must be unable to do any magic. But then why was he holding a wand? And the castle in the background, could this be Hogwarts? It certainly fitted the descriptions Harry had read.

This photo strongly suggested that Al had been a student at Hogwarts. A student with a wand. A wizard.

Carefully Harry put the photo back. He didn't know what make of this and was more confused and curious than ever before, but he could hardly ask Al about a photo he shouldn't even know of in the first place.

Looking down at the book in his hand, Harry decided to postpone trying to solve the mystery that was Al's life. He wanted to get through as many chapters of the book as possible before Al returned.

He left the room as quietly as he had come and ventured out into the garden to read while lying in the sun.

The book was fascinating. There was a chapter on poisonous potions and one of the poisons described was a potion that remained dormant in a person's body until he or she spoke certain words that would trigger its effect. The brewer could choose the words the potions would react to and it used to be a popular way to assure somebody's silence.

The book also mentioned curses that could make blood boil, entrails disintegrate or explode, curses that could suggest certain ideas to a person and make it seem like these thoughts were their own, even spells to curse someone with bad luck or never ending nightmares.

Harry had never thought these things possible, which in retrospect, made him feel kind of stupid. He could transfigure a cup into a mouse, an inanimate object into a living being, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that magic could also be used for more malicious purposes.

The last chapter was devoted to a trio of curses. The Killing Curse, the Imperius Curse and the Cruciatus Curse.

_Invented during the Middle Ages, the Imperius Curse is also known as the Curse of Enslavement, as its victim is forced to submit to the caster's control. Only a person of superior strength of will can hope of resisting it. _

Should he, shouldn't he… Harry had never felt more nervous. But he wanted to prove to himself (and Al) that he wasn't too young to study Dark Magic, that he was skilled enough to cast these curses.

"Accio," said Harry and a moment later the big brown rabbit, that was still living in the cage behind the hut, flew towards him. As he hadn't petrified it this time, the rabbit was flailing around wildly.

The rabbit still suspended in the air, Harry quickly browsed through the book's content once again. He wanted a curse that would show an immediate reaction, but nothing too bloody, he had grown used to the rabbit during the last month, what with feeding it and keeping an eye on its clock. It didn't deserve a cruel death.

Well, maybe he should go with the last curse he read about.

"Imperio," Harry said and pointed the wand at the animal.

Nothing happened.

"Imperio," Harry said again, but the rabbit didn't relinquish control.

"Imperio," Harry snapped annoyed, he wanted the stupid rabbit to stop moving!

Suddenly the rabbit held its body completely still, not even its ears were twitching. At the same time Harry felt, well, he didn't know what exactly, but _something_. Maybe the rabbits will or presence or fight for control… it was some sort of connection.

Slowly he lowered the rabbit to the ground.

"Jump," Harry said and the rabbit jumped.

"Jump backwards."

"Wiggle your ears."

"Do a somersault."

Amazingly enough it did everything it was told, though its somersault ended in a rather poor attempt.

"Behave normally, but don't leave the clearing."

The rabbit hopped away as if nothing had happened.

.

Not expecting Al to return before the evening, Harry once again spent his next morning outside, soaking up the warm summer sun and reading the Dark Arts book. He wanted to cover as many chapters as possible before the old man returned.

He was so engrossed in his reading, that he didn't notice someone approach until the man's figure cast a dark shadow over him.

Harry looked up in surprise. "Al! What, why-"

A deep cut on Al's cheek made him lose his stray of thought momentarily.

"What happened?"

"Just as small mishap," Al said dismissively. "What are you reading?"

Harry looked down at the book to his feet guiltily. "Um, I just-"

Al, who had followed his line of sight, suddenly looked very angry. "Where did you get that book Harry?"

"I-"

"Did you enter my room?"

Harry didn't know what to say, Al looked so angry… It was unfair; all he had wanted was to read up on an interesting subject.

"Did you enter my room Harry?"

"I'm sorry," Harry stuttered. "I just, you said it was too difficult for me, and I just wanted to prove to myself that it wasn't."

"And you thought just because you wanted to, it was okay to _break into_ my room?"

"I don't know why you're keeping it locked anyway," Harry replied stubbornly. "It's not like there's some big secret hidden inside."

"It doesn't matter why!" Al had raised his voice. "I told you not to go into my room, I expressively forbid you from practicing any Dark Magic, and as soon as I turn my back you betray my trust!"

"Well what was I supposed to do? I read all the books you gave me and studying how to transfigure a cup into a bird or something gets boring. I don't have any friends my age here. I don't have anything to do but study and wander through the woods. I was bored. And this sounded like it was fun."

"Fun," Al thundered. "You invaded my privacy because it was fun."

"That's not what I said!" Harry shouted. "You're twisting my words."

"I don't care. Give me that book. You won't be getting any new ones, that's for sure."

Harry picked the book up and threw it at Al. It fell back to the ground with a loud _thud_.

"Pick it up and give it to me like a civilized wizard," Al said, eyes narrowed angrily.

"Pick it up yourself if all you care about is that stupid book."

Harry turned around and ran into the woods, tears streaming down his face.

It wasn't fair. Day in day out it was the same, he didn't have a single friend, didn't know a single person besides Al because the stubborn old man forbid him from association with the people living in the muggle village nearby.

He brushed his tears away angrily. If Al didn't want him to find something to do inside the house, well, then he'd just have to make some new experience out here.

"Point me," said Harry, balancing his wand on his flat hand, thinking as hard as he could about a village or town, just some kind of civilisation.

The wand spun twice before it rested, pointing north, and Harry determinately followed its lead.

He must have been walking for hours before he encountered the first house; it was getting dark already. Not willing to give up so close to his goal, Harry continued.

Soon the trees became sparser and more and more houses appeared in the distance. Once Harry had reached a paved road he encountered the first muggles. It was weird. He hadn't seen anybody but Al for years; all of these people just seemed so… normal.

There was a middle-aged woman pushing a buggy down the street, and two young boys racing each other on inline skates. When one of them caught sight of him, he grinned broadly and nudged the other boy. Now both were staring at him, as if he were some weird curiosity.

Could they see he was different?

Harry continued down the road and soon reached what he thought was supposed to be village centre.

There was a post office, a restaurant and even a dingy looking pub. A car sped past him, and Harry took in a deep breath, enjoying the slight smell of exhaust fumes in the air.

He should have come here earlier, he hadn't realised before now how much he had missed civilisation.

He wandered through the village a little longer, from time to time people were shooting him curious glances, but Harry couldn't be bothered. This was his first time back in a village for who knows how many years; nothing could spoil that.

The village wasn't exactly big, and two hours later Harry had seen everything and was back where he had started. It was really dark by now, and the street lights – glorious street lights – were his only source of light.

"Hey stranger."

The sound of a feminine voice made Harry turn around. A petite girl, probably around his age, was sitting on a little bench, a beer can in hand.

"You're not from around here." It wasn't a question.

"No," Harry said stupidly. He hadn't talked to someone his age, let alone a girl, in ages.

"Thought so. I know everybody here." She took a sip of her beer and simultaneously brushed a few strand of blonde hair out of her face.

"So… Are you a goth?"

"What?" Harry asked flabbergasted. He'd heard that expression somewhere before, but its meaning wouldn't come to him.

She waved her hand in his direction. "Just asking, 'cause of the clothes, you know."

Surprised Harry looked down at himself. He had completely forgotten that he was wearing robes! No wonder all those people had been staring at him.

"Oh, um, no, not really."

She only shrugged and held out a can of beer to him. "You want one? Nobody else will be coming tonight. You could keep me company."

Harry stared at the beer. He had never drunken alcohol before. Al would definitely disapprove.

"Sure," he said, took the can and sat down next to her.

.

He hated muggle transportation. It was so… undignified. Herded like cattle. He could smell his neighbour, a fat man who was sweating like he'd just won a Quidditch match.

The woman opposite him was once again blowing her nose.

Merlin.

He just wanted to grab his wand and hex the stupid thing off.

But he couldn't. No, no, no. He had to behave unassumingly. Couldn't have anyone becoming suspicious.

The fat man took a bite of some sort of sandwich (muggle sandwich, surely disgusting) and chewed open mouthed, behaving like the animal he was.

If his Lord could see him now, see what his most devoted, most faithful follower was enduring for him… oooh… he would shower him in praise, reward him for his endurance.

Muggles. Simply disgusting. He would love to blow up the train, a little brain matter here, a few intestines there… that was art, that was all muggles were good for.

He sniggered, and the disgusting, coughing, wheezing woman shot him a disturbed glance.

Oh if she knew, if only she knew…

There was a voice coming from those machines muggles used to make sound travel distances. It was probably the conductor announcing their next stop.

The background noise made the voice hard to understand, but it didn't really matter, the language was foreign to him anyway.

Once again, he looked down at the old newspaper in his hands. An old Daily Prophet.

His eyes flew over the article about Sirius Black…

_..._

_Sirius Black free!_

_False information led to unjust imprisonment._

_Minister graciously offers Black One Thousand Galleons as compensation._

_Mr. Black's rash decision to break out of Azkaban was costly:_

_"All the added security, the wanted posters… He should have approached a patrolling Auror about the misunderstanding before taking matters into his own hands. The Ministry would have been more than happy to compensate him richly then," says a spokesperson for the Ministry. (More on page 8)_

_..._

…and further down, until he reached the lines he was looking for. The lines he could read again and again. It never got boring.

_..._

_Bartemius Crouch Sr. found dead!_

_Crazy House Elf suspected of murder. _

_"I had to walk outside immediately. The stench was unbearable. One of the trainees couldn't help but empty his stomach. It was- I have never- The poor man."_

_(More on page 12)_

_..._

He sniggered again. Yes… it had been unbearable… unbearably beautiful… a cathartic experience.

He leaned back into his seat, and with a content smile on his face Barty Crouch Jr. watched the countryside of Albania fly past.

* * *

><p>First of all I want to thank all of my reviewers. I love hearing what you think of the story. I try to respond to everybody, so this note is mostly for you anonymous reviewers.<p>

Second of all, I have a question: **What do you think of Al?** Can you connect to him as a character? Or is he getting too little 'screen time'?

Once again I wrote this chapter in a hurry and I didn't have a beta to go over it, so all the mistakes are mine, please excuse them. Or point them out, then I'll gladly correct them.

Soo... Review?


	8. Chapter 8

_Wow. 100 Favourites and over 50 reviews. Thanks a lot for the support! _

_This chapter should have gone up yesterday, but as some of you might have noticed, the ffnet login page was down for a bit. _

_I hope you enjoy this chapter. _

* * *

><p>A few days after posting the last chapter, I added another scene to it. I leave it here for a few days, so that anybody who has read the original version of Chapter 7 can just read it here and continue with Chapter 8.<p>

Al is gone, Harry sneaks into his room:

_He was 15, hardly a child anymore. His ancestor had ventured out into the world on his own while still in his teenage years, so he should at least be able to read books on whatever subject he wanted!_

_With that thought in mind, Harry once again unlocked Al's bedroom door to look for a book. Harry immediately discarded the books without titles; he didn't have the time to go through them page by page._

_After about an hour in Al's room Harry finally found a book that looked promising. The title read 'Dark Secrets' and Harry hesitated for a moment before pulling it out._

_"Don't be stupid. It's just a book," he murmured to himself before grabbing it._

_With the book a picture fell out of the shelf. It showed a group of young men, all wearing similar black robes, standing in front on an impressive castle. Harry was about to put the picture back, when he recognised Al in one of the boys. He looked no older than 16 and was twirling a wand in his right hand._

_A wand._

_Harry stared at the picture open mouthed. He had never seen Al do any magic, and as Al stubbornly avoided talking about the topic, Harry had, shortly after discovering the existence of squibs in one of his books, come to the conclusion that Al must be unable to do any magic. But then why was he holding a wand? And the castle in the background, could this be Hogwarts? It certainly fitted the descriptions Harry had read._

_This photo strongly suggested that Al had been a student at Hogwarts. A student with a wand. A wizard._

_Carefully Harry put the photo back. He didn't know what make of this and was more confused and curious than ever before, but he could hardly ask Al about a photo he shouldn't even know of in the first place._

_Looking down at the book in his hand, Harry decided to postpone trying to solve the mystery that was Al's life. He wanted to get through as many chapters of the book as possible before Al returned._

_He left the room as quietly as he had come and ventured out into the garden to read while lying in the sun._

* * *

><p>- 8 -<p>

_._

_Autumn 1995_

Harry opened the front door as quietly as possible. He had no idea what time it was - the sun had already risen, but maybe he could still sneak inside without Al noticing him…

"You were with that girl again, weren't you?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. Al was sitting at the breakfast table and watched Harry stumble through the kitchen with narrowed eyes.

"Yeah," was all he said as he quickly made his way past Al towards the living room.

"You smell of alcohol."

"I'm tired. Let's talk later, okay?" Harry concentrated on speaking clearly, but he knew his voice slurred a bit nevertheless.

"You're tired all the time. Tired and wasted. I didn't raise you like this, to go out and associate with muggles, drinking with them. I'd have thought you had a little more self-respect."

Harry ignored Al and proceeded to the living room, which, over the course of the years, had unofficially become his room. He had permanently transfigured the sofa into a bed and slumped down onto the soft mattress exhaustedly. As soon as his head touched the soft cushion, Harry fell asleep.

.

When he woke, the sun was already sinking again. A quick glance at the old grandfather clock in the living room told him that it was 5 pm already. After a quick stop in the bathroom Harry cast a cleaning charm onto his black trousers and sweat-shirt – muggle clothes he had stolen from a shop in town to blend in with the muggle crowd a bit more.

Courtney had had a fit of laughter the first time she saw that he didn't wear any trousers underneath his robes, and still teased him about it from time to time.

From the kitchen window he could see Al working outside in the garden. Like every autumn Al was making a select few plants ready for winter.

For a moment Harry thought about climbing out of the living room window. He wasn't in the mood to get into yet another unfriendly word exchange with Al. He straightened his back. This was ridiculous.

As he walked out the front door, Al looked up.

"Going there again?" Al spat.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Because he didn't see why he should allow Al to govern his life, when Al didn't even share a minimum of his own life with Harry.

Because the secrets he had discovered in Al's room – the family photos, the picture of Al with a wand – made him feel bitter and resentful whenever he looked at the old man.

Because Courtney was his age. She was nice. Fun. An amazing kisser. Generally very talented with her mouth.

"Just because."

.

Like every evening Harry walked the narrow pebble stone path up to Courtney's house, stepping over an old, broken bicycle, empty beer cans, discarded plastic bags and other garbage, and finally knocked on the old door, whose peeling paint was yet another reminder of the general state the house was in.

Courtney's father was gone, her mother a drunk who was either sleeping off her last drinking spree or with one of her numerous lovers.

With that in mind, Harry was very surprised when instead of Courtney, a young man, a few years older than Harry, with a shaven head and an unfriendly expression opened the door.

"Yes?"

Who was that bloke?

"Is Courtney here?"

The man looked him up and down with narrowed eyes, and Harry became uncomfortably aware that he wore his black winter robes over his muggle clothes. Courtney didn't really have a problem with them – yes, sometimes she said they made him look like a weirdo, but always with a smile on her lips – but the young man scrunched his face up in disgust and looked even more hostile.

"Freak," he muttered under his breath, and turned around to call for Courtney. Harry took a step back in surprise.

At the back of the man's head was a tattoo of two eyes, very real looking eyes, and beneath them, flames that seemed to lick at the base of his head. Now that Harry was paying attention, he realised that the man's arms, and even hands, were covered in tattoos too.

_Aunt Petunia would have had a fit._

He shrugged the unbidden thought off and tried not to squirm under the intense stare of the man's real eyes. Finally Courtney appeared.

"Who's that Court?"

She flinched at his sharp tone.

"A- a friend…"

"So that's the little shite Jake told me about? The one you spend all your time with? Never knew you had a thing for freaks."

Little shite? Harry was about to tell the man what exactly he thought of him, but closed his mouth when he caught Courtney shaking her head slightly.

The man grabbed her arm and shoved her outside. Her jacket came flying a moment later.

"If you let something like that screw you-", he waved his hand in Harry's direction, "—you better stay away from the house."

Harry's blood boiled, his fingers itched to grab his wand and teach that idiot some manners, but Courtney took his hand and dragged him away.

"And don't get knocked up! I want no fucking freak for a nephew!"

Courtney walked faster, only stopped once the house was out of sight.

"Who the hell was that?"

"My- my brother, Rob…" A single tear ran down her cheek, and Harry felt even angrier than before. What right did he have to treat his sister like this?

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and pulled her into an embrace. She was crying for real now. He kissed her cheeks and rubbed her back soothingly, hoping he was doing the right thing. In all honesty, he had no idea how to calm a crying girl.

"He's a moron," he whispered, trying to make her feel better, and immediately Courtney pushed him away.

She looked angry, furious really. "He's no moron. Don't you dare say something like that again. He's my brother and just looking out for me."

"What?" Harry said dumbfounded. Was she really defending the guy who had just thrown her out of her own home?

"He's-", she continued hesitantly, "-he's just been released from prison, you know? I think he just needs some time to… well, realise that he's back home again."

"He threw you out of the house and insulted me without reason. He doesn't even know me."

She looked at his robes. "Not without reason. You do look like you escaped a circus with these ridiculous robes you always wear. Just buy something normal."

"I like my robes. And this still doesn't give him the right to treat you like he did."

"Just drop it, okay?" she said and came closer again, "He'll be gone in a few minutes anyway, visiting friends, then we can go back home and-", she kissed him, "-forget about all of this. Yes?"

Harry didn't like it, he wanted to talk about this some more, make her see that her brother had no right to treat her that way, but in the end he just kissed her back.

"I know you only meant well, and I love you for it," she whispered into his ear.

Harry froze for a moment. Nobody, _nobody, _had ever said this to him before. She took a step back and looked into his eyes, blue meeting green. She looked so vulnerable and so kind, and somehow lost too…

"I love you too," he whispered back, and when he saw her smile, he knew that it was true.

.

Over the next few months, Harry would come to look back at the day they declared their love for each other as the beginning of the end.

He didn't realise it immediately, caught up in the giddy state of loving and feeling loved for the first time in his life as he was, but the signs were there.

Courtney started complaining about things that had never bothered her before, like his ignorance concerning films, computer games or music. She wanted him to dress differently, more like a "normal person", cut his wild her, like a "normal person", and generally be more normal.

They couldn't meet as often as they used to, because her brother had practically forbidden Courtney to see him, and she didn't or couldn't stand up to him. Instead she claimed that he had a point and that everything would get better if Harry only tried to look, to be more _normal_.

Harry refused out of sheer principal. He wouldn't change who he was for an idiot like Rob.

When Courtney said she wanted Harry to change for her, he reminded her that before Rob reappeared in her life, she had had no problem with any of the things she was complaining about now.

She had joked good naturedly about his clothes, had introduced him to the music she liked to listen to, had accompanied him on long walks through the woods and nearly squealed in delight when he'd shown her one of the clearings where the deer liked to graze.

So when Harry visited her on a late evening in February he wore his robes, just like he always did. He waited in the woods nearby, freezing his butt off, until it was finally 11 pm - the time Rob usually left to go out with his friends.

He stepped over the garbage in the front garden with practiced ease and knocked at the door.

Rob opened.

"You." His breath stank of whiskey. "I told you to leave my sister alone."

Harry shrugged. "She invited me here," he said.

"Court!" He called. "The freak seems to think you still want to see him."

Courtney appeared behind him, she didn't meet his eyes. "I told you to leave me alone Harry."

He gaped at her. He knew she didn't want to parade their relationship around in front of her brother, but the outright rejection hurt him in ways he hadn't thought possible.

"Courtney," he said, "this is getting ridiculous. Just tell him the truth."

"Court? Anything you want to tell me?" Her brother towered over her, and she shrunk back. She caught Harry's gaze, and with a sinking feeling Harry realised that she wouldn't admit to their relationship.

"Just go," she said.

Harry stared at her. "Can we talk alone for a minute?"

"Didn't you hear her? She said she doesn't wanna see you anymore. Get lost."

Harry stayed. He couldn't, didn't want to move. The Dursleys hadn't wanted to acknowledge his existence all his life. He had had to hide certain aspects of his life - his muggle upbringing - from Al. For once in his life he wanted someone to just stand by him. They were in love. Surely she wouldn't just ignore him? Bow to her brother's irrational wishes?

Suddenly he was grabbed by his collar, and dragged inside. Rob pushed him roughly against the wall. His face was inches away from Harry's.

"Maybe I need to be a bit more specific," he growled. "We. Don't. Want. You. Here. Freak."

He grabbed Harry again and threw him through the room. Harry tried to regain his balance, but it was too late. He fell backwards, his head hitting the something hard and edgy.

His sank to the floor, his vision blurring. His head stung, something wet and warm drenched his hair.

Someone was bending down to him, touching his head.

"Fuck Rob! Shit, shit, shit."

Courtney.

"I didn't mean to-"

"He's bleeding!" Her voice was shaking. "Harry? Harry can you hear me? Please, say something!" She sounded desperate, as if she was crying.

Harry wanted to say something, but his mouth didn't work. His brain felt fuzzy, everything was dark.

"Get away from him!" Rob roared and Harry felt the soft touch of her hand retreat.

"We have to call an ambulance. He could be dying. What did you do?"

He heard someone approach. Rough hands picked up his head and let it dangly in the air. Harry didn't have the strength to keep it upright himself.

"Shit."

He was dropped to the ground again, a wave of pain rolled through his body.

"Damn it," a voice - Rob? - cursed. "We- we can't call an ambulance. If- if anybody finds out about this I'll be back in prison."

"We have to," a soft voice pleaded. "Rob, he could _die._"

Silence. Someone paced up and down the room.

"I'll take care of it, Court. Just, if anybody asks, I've been here the whole night. Do you understand?"

What were they talking about? They had to call an ambulance. Harry tried to sit up, but his body didn't follow his command.

He was picked up and slung over somebody's shoulder.

"You can't… please Rob… He didn't do anything…"

Can't what? Harry wanted to shout. He wanted to know what they were going to do to him, where they were taking him.

"Courtney _I can't_ go back to prison. That place his… it's horrible. I can't go back there."

Loud sobbing. Somebody, Courtney, was crying.

"Please Rob, don't…"

"It's me or him Courtney. Your brother or some freak."

Silence hung heavy in the air, only disturbed by loud sobs.

"I ca- can't…"

"Me or him, your brother or…"

"You…" Courtney breathed, and suddenly the body carrying him was moving again.

The door clicked open.

"I've been here the whole night Court. If anybody asks, I've been here the whole night."

Courtney was crying hysterically.

Cold air hit Harry like a shockwave. A shutter went through his body. Another door opened. He was dropped onto something soft, warm.

Maybe they were taking him to the hospital.

An engine started. A car. That was it. He had to be inside a car. Rob was taking him to the hospital. He had to be. Courtney wouldn't allow anything else. Courtney loved him.

The car drove down a street, the occasional bump intensified his pain. Then it turned on an even more uneven road.

This didn't feel right. Harry wanted to open his eyes, concentrated on it. It felt impossible, harder then anything he had ever tried before. Why wouldn't his body respond?

All of a sudden, they snapped open. His surroundings were blurry. He could make out the back of Rob's shaven head on the front seat. They were driving through the wood, moving past trees at a break-neck speed.

Another bump. Another hit to the head. Pain followed by darkness. Harry tried to stay awake, tried to keep his eyes open, but unconsciousness claimed him.

The next time Harry became aware of his surrounding, he was picked up again. He could hear water nearby. Oh god.

"No…" He whimpered, but his protest was either ignored or went unnoticed.

"It's not my fault," someone murmured. "It's not my fault. I told you to stay away. My sister told you. It's not my fault. I'm not going to prison for a freak like you. I'm not. It's your fault, you hear me. Not mine."

The noise the water made became louder. They were approaching it. Harry tried to squirm away, but once again, his body refused to obey.

No. No, no, no.

A second noise mingled with the sound of water splashing against stone. Someone was crying.

Rob, Harry's sluggish brain provided.

"It's not my fault," the man repeated again and again. "Should've stayed away. Should've listened."

And then… from one second to the next, unable to even cry out in shock, Harry was sailing through the air.

Flying.

It felt like an entirety. He hit something hard and cold. Then his world went dark.

When he came to, he was surrounded by silence. Peaceful silence. Harry floated in nothingness, darkness, light. The pain from earlier was gone. Or maybe there had been no pain to begin with.

Was he flying? Yes. Flying. Finally. He should open his eyes, look around, watch the sky, the clouds, the woods from above.

He turned around, flying upside down. Flying, soaring through the air. Harry laughed in exhilaration but couldn't hear his own voice. Maybe the wind took it away, snatched the sound as soon as it left his mouth and made it echo behind him like the white trail lingering in the wake of a plain?

A sudden pain, flaring in his chest, jolted Harry out of his musing. Something was missing, wrong, very wrong, he just didn't know what yet.

He moved his arms, trying to find balance, but they moved sluggishly, slowly, as if something was holding them, him down.

Air. That was what he was missing. That was why his lungs were on fire. He opened his mouth to take in a deep, relieving breath of fresh air, only to find water pouring in. He choked, coughed, tried to get rid of the liquid that seemed filling his lungs with ice, fuelling the fire. But only more came in.

And with the water the memory came back. A blow to the head. Darkness. Voices. Darkness.

He became aware of the coldness of the water surrounding him, needling his skin, freezing his muscles.

Somewhere deep inside he knew that he had to fight, to swim, to get to the surface, to the live saving air.

He opened his eyes but only more darkness welcomed him. Where was up and where down? Left and right?

Moving his arms became harder by the second. He felt his energy leaving him, felt his limbs cease to fight – and maybe he should stop fighting, the water didn't feel so cold anymore, the darkness less frightening.

Maybe this was, were it was supposed to end, his wonderful dream of magic and a Dursley free life.

If he closed his eyes and ignored the fire in his chest, then he could still believe he was flying. It wasn't so bad to die while flying, high up in the air, in freedom.

_Al._ The old man's face appeared before his eyes, clear as if he was standing right in front of Harry. '_I should have listened to you. I'm sorry.' _

.

Al tossed and turned in his bed.

Harry wasn't home, which was nothing unusual, but… he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different tonight. Wrong.

With a sigh Al threw his blanket aside and brazed the cold of his room. Well, cold in comparison to the warmth of his bed.

He'd just check the watch. Then he'd see that he was getting worried over nothing. Harry was surely having a good time at the moment, getting drunk and doing who knows what with that muggle girl he seemed to have fallen for so hard.

The last time he had tried to talk with Harry about it, the boy had even claimed to be in love.

In a way, Al couldn't even find it himself to be overly angry with Harry. He was a young man - it was practically expected of him to sow his wild oats.

But that it had to be with a muggle…

He reached the kitchen, glanced at the clock and was about to return to his bed when the reality of what he had just seen caught up with him. He looked back again.

The watch hand was pointing to _Danger_, to the _'r'_ to be more specific, leaning dangerously towards the word _Dead. _

Al's heart jumped painfully. He quickly slipped into his shoes, grabbed his winter robes and stepped out into the dark.

He had no idea where to start looking. If only he had his magic. Familiar hatred, for the world, but mostly himself, welled up in him. He couldn't lose Harry. The boy was the only good thing that had happened to him since that night so long ago, the night he had lost his magic. He couldn't lose him too.

Back inside the kitchen, the watch hand slowly moved away from the _'r', _past the _'e', 'g', 'n', 'a'_ and slowly stopped waveringly at the 'D'.

.

With a gasp, Harry came to. His face was resting against something cold and hard. He sat up with effort and felt for his wand. It was still where he remembered, strapped to his lower leg with two cords.

His fingers were numb, stiff with cold, and it took him an eternity to untie the knots.

"Lumos," he whispered. The tip of his wand glowed, illuminating his surrounding. He was sitting on a rocky shore next to a rapid river.

He stared at the water. How the hell had he ended up here? He should be with Courtney-

Her name triggered his memory, and abruptly one painful scene after the other flooded his brain.

_"It's me or him Courtney. Your brother or some freak."_

_"You…" Courtney breathed._

A cry of denial, of gut wrenching pain, tore from his lips.

She had- she had simply allowed Rob to take him away, to discard him like garbage.

And Rob… Rob had had simply done so. Thrown him into the river. Left him for dead.

Harry's hand was shaking, the light wavered.

Rob had thrown him away like Harry was garbage, and he had let him. He, a wizard, had allowed a muggle to gain the upper hand. Had allowed a muggle to incapacitate him.

He felt for the wound on his head. It wasn't bleeding anymore. In fact, it seemed to have healed remarkably well, too well.

"Magic," Harry said reverently.

Magic had saved him.

Harry staggered to his feet. He swayed a little, but determinately put one foot in front of the other. He would find Rob, and then he would show the stupid muggle exactly what he had gone up against.

He laughed in exhilaration. Magic had saved his life. Magic had allowed him to survive where a simple muggle would have died. For the first time in his life, Harry understood why Al looked down on muggles, even though they were so similar to them in appearance and intelligence.

Muggles were weak. They were an inferior race; where they died, wizards prevailed.

"Point me Rob." His wand spun in his hand.

.

Al could already see the lights of the muggle village in the distance. His knee hurt, but he ignored the pain with practiced ease. If Harry would only start learning healing spells, then maybe…

Well, Harry could hardly start learning healing spells as long as Al barred his access to the library.

He cursed his own stubbornness. Maybe if he had allowed Harry to continue his studies, he wouldn't have gone to meet that muggle so often, maybe then Harry wouldn't be in mortal danger right now.

A car sped past him, and Al shielded his eyes from the light. He caught a glimpse of its passengers and his breath stopped.

One of them was Harry - deathly pale and with blue lips, but alive. He spun around and followed the fast disappearing car.

.

Abducting the muggle had been easy. Almost too easy.

He had slipped into the house silent like a shadow.

Courtney was nowhere to be seen, and Rob was sitting in front of the TV, holding onto a bottle of cheap vodka like a lifeline.

The Imperius was harder to perform on a muggle than on an animal, but it worked nevertheless, and Rob followed him out of the house, got into his car and drove them back to the place where he had thrown Harry into the river without protest.

Now he was sitting on the ground in front of Harry, looking into the distance with unfocused eyes.

It would be easy to just kill him now and be done with it, throw him into the river, just like Rob had done to him, and command him not to struggle… but Harry wanted Rob to see him before he died, to see what he had brought on himself.

Courtney's face appeared before his eyes… she wouldn't want her brother to die… she would plead with him to let Rob live…

Harry pushed the thought away. He didn't want to deal with all of that now. Didn't want to face the reality, the true horror of his night. Right now, he wanted to concentrate on nothing but his revenge.

"Serpensortia."

A thick, black snake appeared on the ground before him. He repeated the spell.

_"Coil around his arms," _Harry hissed and the snakes followed his command without hesitation. He grinned. Being a wizard was amazing.

He cancelled the Imperius and with a start Rob became aware of his surroundings.

"What the fuck?" He spat, then he caught sight of Harry and shrunk back with a - in Harry's opinion embarrassingly high-pitched - shriek.

"You- you're dead."

"Obviously not."

"H- how did I get here?"

"I told you to come here."

Rob looked at him disbelievingly. "I don't remember…"

His face changed from confusion to rage, and he took a step forward, probably to attack Harry, but the snakes wrapped tightly around his arms hissed dangerously.

"I wouldn't do that," Harry grinned. He knew he was probably looking like a maniac, but it just felt so good to get back at the man who had tried to kill him, the man who had destroyed his relationship with Courtney, had cost him his first love.

Rob froze, his eyes widened in horror. "How…"

"Oh, I can talk to them, you know. Freakish talent of mine. Look:," Harry focused on the snakes. _"Tighten your grip." _

"St-stop this- stop this damnit."

"Not so tough anymore, are we?"

"What do you want?" Rob's voice shook.

"Just to make us even. You tried to kill me, so now it's my turn."

"Is this about Courtney? Do you want to date her? I can-" it seemed to physically pain him to finish his sentence. "-I can back off."

Harry laughed, the sound hollow to his own ears. "It's a little too late for that, don't you think? Cou-," his voice broke, he couldn't say her name, "-your sister didn't help me. She doesn't care."

"She cares," Rob pleaded, "I know she does. She- she hates me for what I did for you, if you just-"

Harry's hand shook. He knew if he didn't hurry up, he wouldn't be able to go through with this. He couldn't allow Rob to waste time talking, to make him _think _about all of this.

"Enough," Harry hissed. "You tried to kill me. You failed. And now you're going to bear the consequences."

"I was drunk, and angry, I didn't mean-"

The snakes reared up and Rob fell silent. Tears were running down his cheeks, his eyes following Harry's every movement, widening in horror as he caught sight of the sharp dagger in his hand.

_'It's not much different from killing a deer. It's not. He deserves it. He tried to kill me. He deserves it. He's just flesh, and blood, and bones, not so different from a deer…'_

Harry approached, knife gripped tightly in his hand.

"Please, no…"

Rob tried to step back, but one of the snakes was crawling down his body, winding around his legs, making him trip.

He fell down.

_'Not so different from killing a deer. Just flesh, and blood, and bones.' _

Harry crouched down next to him, focusing solely on his eyes. They were different from a deer's, weren't they? More aware somehow, more afraid of death. Different, but not in a bad way.

Rob's breathing sped up, but he didn't try to get away again.

"Please…" he whispered, but Harry didn't listen.

He brought his knife down, and with one smooth motion, honed to perfection from the hunt, he cut through Rob's throat, severing the carotid artery.

Rob's eyes rolled back, he lost consciousness immediately. His brain was shutting down as the blood pressure dropped. It was a quick death but Harry didn't think he had the stomach for torture.

He doubted he could have gone through with the kill if Rob had had more time to plead with him.

Rob's arms twitched, his mouth opened and closed a few times, a wet stain appeared in his groin area.

Harry staggered back. He looked at the bloody knife in his hand to the dead man on the ground.

His fury, his anger was receding, leaving horror and doubt to cloud his mind.

Had he gone too far, had he… god. He had just killed somebody. He'd really done it.

Leaves rustled behind him and Harry turned around faster than he thought possible, wand raised, a stunning spell already on his lips.

"Harry?" A familiar voice asked.

"Al? What? How?"

The old man stepped out of the woods, stared at Harry, then at the corpse behind him.

"What happened here?" His voice was flat, neither judging nor horrified, simply there.

Harry broke down. The horror of his night, the feeling of drowning, the certainty that he would die, the cold of the water, the feeling of fresh air in his lungs, his fury, his desire for revenge, the disappointment, the look in Rob's eyes… it all came crushing down on him, and his knees simply gave out.

Al enveloped him in an embrace, holding Harry's shaking body, talking to him soothingly. "Why don't you just tell me what happened?"

"I- He-," Harry hiccupped, "-he tried to kill me. Would've killed me if my magic hadn't saved me. I- so angry and I just-"

It seemed to take him an eternity to tell the whole story. His voice broke more than once when he came to the part about Courtney's betrayal. He still loved her. Or the person she had been in the beginning of their relationship - the girl who accepted his strangeness, even seemed to like him for it. The unafraid girl, who explored the woods with him at the dead of the night, the girl he could stay up whole nights with, just making love and talking.

When the story was told, the last word spoken, Al just sat with him in silence.

"You did the right thing, Harry."

"I killed another human being…"

"A muggle. A muggle who tried to kill you first."

He got up and pulled Harry with him. "Can you transfigure him into something? A piece of wood maybe?"

"I don't think so. It's too complex." Harry felt stupid. He could kill somebody but not even clean the mess up afterwards.

"Then just make him float along. We'll think of something."

Harry did as he was told, and the two men, with a corpse in their wake, started their way back.

"Al?" Harry asked timidly.

"Yes?"

"I- I want to say I'm sorry. I was stupid and, I was so angry with you… not because of the book, but-," he hesitated.

"Then why?"

"Because I don't know a damn thing about you. I don't even know your name. And I thought you were a squib, but when I- I broke into your room and took the book, a found a picture of you, holding a wand, so clearly you had magic sometime and I just don't understand. I- I don't even know your whole name, and you know everything about me, know even more about my family's history than I do…"

Harry hadn't wanted to say this much, be this direct, but once he had started talking, he just couldn't stop. His mouth simply continued on and on, sharing all the thoughts that had occupied his mind for the last few months.

He didn't dare look at Al. He knew Al would just put the topic off like he always did. And he also knew that he had no right to demand anything from Al.

"My past is very painful for me to remember," Al said. "But I realise that by taking you in, by raising you like my own, I made the decision to let you into my life long ago. I should have told you more about myself, but it- it seemed so unimportant to me. My past is gone. It's nothing I can go back to."

He paused and they walked along in silence.

"The picture you mentioned? That's indeed me with a wand. I started Hogwarts in September of 1936, following in the footsteps of my ancestors. I had magic then, my- I- I don't anymore."

Harry stared at Al open mouthed. "Thank you," he said, though those simple words were not enough to express the gratitude and relieve he felt. After all these years, Al was finally starting to let him in.

Al grinned. "Aye. My name's Alphard, by the way. Alphard Black. Are you sure I didn't mention that? Thought I had introduced myself to you with my full name that first day when you appeared on my doorstep."

* * *

><p><em>So... what do you think? <em>

_We're getting closer to finding out more about Al. Finally. _

_As you may have noticed, he exists in canon, but there isn't much information on him, so writing him was basically like writing an OC. Especially as I decided to build his character differently from what I've read on him in fanfiction so far. _

_Any guesses why he's not able to use magic anymore? _

_If someone makes the right guess they're allowed allowed to ask any question - as spoilery as they want - and I'll answer to the best of my knowledge. _

_What do you think about Courtney and everything that happened in relation to her? _


End file.
